Sacrifice
by Shadowsammy
Summary: My wish had been granted by the Valar. I'd been given a second chance at life – to find Seth, and to fall in love. I could grow up. And I had indeed become much more like the girl – no, the woman – that I had always wanted to be. Stronger and more confident. So, I would sacrifice everything to clear my conscience. I would sacrifice all of it…for him. Aragorn X OC. Slight AU
1. Prologue:  Hello, Goodbye

~Prologue~

Hello, Goodbye

_Well, Hello World;  
>How You Been?<br>Good to See You, My Old Friend.  
>Sometimes I Feel as Cold as Steel,<br>And Broken Like I'm Never Gonna Heal.  
>I See a Light, a Little Grace, a Little Faith Unfurl.<em>

_~Hello World,_ by Lady Antebellum

Disclaimer: Me Now Own; You No Sue.

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><p>A blanket of gray covered the city streets, defeated only by the faint glow of the streetlights littering the empty lane. One lone light flickered, pathetically fighting for life, before dying out. It was a sign. Yes, a sign of things to come.<p>

The moon and stars were hidden tonight, as well. They were not visible in the city, as they were sheltered amongst the dark clouds, protected from the eyes of the world. I found it hard to navigate the streets in such darkness. But I kept going, determined to make my way through the black void.

A gust of wind whistled down the alleyway and I shivered. It was cold, _very_ cold, and I pulled my hood down further over my eyes, snuggling into my old sweatshirt in an attempt to stay warm.

Just as I was turning a corner, a car zoomed by – definitely exceeding the _clearly posted_ speed limit, might I add – and a small wave of water cascaded over my already miserable form. My sweatshirt and jeans clung to my small form like a second skin.

I coughed at the harsh exhaust fumes emitted by the silver Lexus – a sports car, definitely belonging to a rich man or woman. _Lung cancer, here I come. _

My throat hurt, sore from the strain of holding back tears, and so I whispered, "Would you really be so cruel as to make this day _worse?_"

But I knew that God could always hear you, even if He didn't always listen. And as soon as the last word left my mouth, rain exploded from the skies, followed by a crack of thunder. I stared up at the sky, in awe of such power – the raw power of Mother Nature. Of God, and of life.

_And humans are going to destroy this, all of this…this beauty. _I thought bitterly, a scowl stealing across my chapped lips. _With cars, and guns, and war. _

_War._ The word echoed eerily in my head. _War. _Oh, my God. _War stole something from me. _

A sob clawed its way up my throat and into the air. Followed by another one, and another. My grief was evident as I dropped to my knees, hands fisted on the ground. I pounded on the pavement, again and again and again.

_I want him back! Give him back to me! Please! Please, just give him back…_

Another car passed me as I stood up and stumbled along the old, cracked sidewalk in the general direction of my house. Always a house; no longer a home. Never again.

_Sometimes… sometimes, I really hate this world._

A bolt of lightning shot across the sky, much like a shooting star, and I smiled. It was a silly thought, but remnants of my childhood stirred in my mind. And before I could stop myself, I made a wish.

_I wish…_

I felt a weird sensation slowly building in my chest, thrumming like a second heartbeat. It pulsed once, twice… Faintly, I heard the blaring of a car horn.

And then I was gone.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Me: Short, I know. But it was enough to hook you wasn't it?

Audience (Crickets Chirping in the Background): ...

Me: Um, yes. I updated the prologue, simply because I thought it more successful in its attempt to lead into Chapter One.

Audience: ...

Me: ...right. Chapter One should be up soon. Gotta jet! :D


	2. Chapter 1:  Heaven or Hell

~Chapter One~

Heaven or Hell

_Oh Death, Oh Death, Oh Death…  
>Won't You Spare Me Over 'til Another Year?<br>But What is This, That I Cannot See,  
>With Ice Cold Hands Taking Hold of Me.<br>When God is Gone and the Devil Takes Hold,  
>Who Will Have Mercy on Your Soul? <em>

_I'll Open the Door to Heaven or Hell.  
>Oh Death, Oh Death…<br>My Name is Death and the End is Here. _

_~Oh, Death,_ by Jen Titus

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>A bolt of lightning shot across the sky, much like a shooting star, and I smiled. It was a silly thought, but remnants of my childhood stirred in my mind. And before I could stop myself, I made a wish.<strong>

**_I wish…_**

**I felt a weird sensation slowly building in my chest, thrumming like a second heartbeat. It pulsed once, twice… Faintly, I heard the blaring of a car horn.**

**And then I was gone.**

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><p>Pain, agonizing pain, endless pain…<p>

Oh, it hurt so much as I lay there, eyes shut tightly against the explosion of stars in my skull. My entire being felt like it had been swallowed by a dragon and torn into tiny bits, until only the aching bones were left, rotting on the floor.

So much _pain_…

"My, my, my. In all my years, I've never met a mortal with such a…_vivid_ imagination."

The voice was soft; in fact, the words had only been whispered. But I still heard them as they shattered the silence of my own thoughts, like glass breaking in the night. My mind felt numb and I had to work diligently to process the meaning behind the sounds.

Only one word really registered, just as only one truly mattered: _mortal_.

Yes, I was mortal. I had proven it only moments ago, when I had taken my own life. By stepping out in front of that truck, I had effectively ended my existence on Earth.

And it had hurt.

"Of course it hurt, you stupid creature" the voice angrily chided. "Death has a tendency to treat lesser mortals in such a manner. And he has every right in to do so when you partake in the ending of your own life."

"Who are you…?" I croaked, voice raw with sudden emotion. "Who are you…to call me 'lesser,' eh?"

Silence for the briefest of moments, and then – "I am Oromë."

_Impossible!_ I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat at this announcement. _No… That is…fucking impossible!_

He scoffed. "Such language does nothing to raise your esteem in my view, _lesser_ mortal."

His emphasis on the word 'lesser' was beginning to grate on my nerves – if I still had claim to any remaining nerves in my body, that is. Did I even _have_ a body anymore? Or was I simply a soul, left to meander through this void for all eternity? Forgotten, and alone.

Why could he not leave me be?

"And who are you to demand that I treat you as anything other than _lesser?_" Oromë snarled, the words ripping through the air like thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated his angelic face and I was able to clearly see the fury in his eyes. "Who are you…to demand…_anything _of _me!_"

I gasped as my eyes shot open, and not on their own accord. My body – for I did indeed still have one – was suddenly suspended in the air, as if by invisible strings. A quick glance down at my form assured me that I was as naked as the day I'd entered this world. Yet I had changed in the years since my birth, transforming into something scarred and ugly. The only pretty thing about me was the dozens of invisible strings that shimmered and sparkled as they hugged my naked form; like stars in the night sky.

And I could not move.

Eyes that were now the color of ice cut through me like a rusty dagger. "Indeed, you cannot. As you can see, you are completely at my mercy," Oromë said in a voice as cold as his eyes.

He flicked his wrist and one of the many small, silver strings tightened on my left wrist. A thin line appeared on my wrist and blood trickled down my arm, fading into the darkness. Another string tightened, this one on my right thigh, and again I bled.

_I'm… I'm bleeding? But I'm dead! How…is that possible?_

"Anything is possible when you have the capability to create."

My nose scrunched up at his rather haughty response. "Where the hell did you read that – a Chinese fortune cookie?" I quipped nastily, feeling rather proud of myself for that witty remark.

An enraged snarl was the only warning I received as the strings tightened. They pulled me in different directions, all at once, and my limbs angrily protested the violent treatment. Tighter and tighter the strings were pulled until I felt as though my heart would rip in two from the pressure. I tried to bite back the screams that threatened to tear through my lips, but I was unsuccessful in this endeavor. Screams of pain echoed in what I now believed to be my own personal Hell.

I prayed to God that the pain ended soon.

And, suddenly, it did. But not for the sake of mercy on Oromë's part; no, it merely ended because the silver strings had snapped. Every last one fell to the ground in a shower of silver glitter. A shower of falling stars.

_I wish…_

I remained suspended in the air for only a split second, and then I was falling. Time seemed to stop and I held my breath, eyes shut tightly as I waited for the pain that would surely come as I fell to the ground. But the impact never came.

Instead, I fell into the warmth of someone's embrace. My eyelids fluttered open, and when I glanced upwards, I could not help the little whimper that escaped. Holding me was the one person I thought I'd never see again. His arms were tight around my shoulders as he held me close, my nose buried in his neck. I breathed in his scent as whispered those three simple words – _I love you._

I sobbed, lips cracked and bleeding as I cried the words back to him.

_It's him. Oh, my God. It is! He came back to me. My…_

And then he vanished.

I fell to the ground, but I exerted no effort to stand again. Nothing mattered anymore and I began screaming and wailing in agony. The pain of the strings… The pain of being ripped into a million pieces… That was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ compared to this overwhelming desire to _die_. And the worst part in the entire situation was that I was already dead. Nothing and no one could ever –_would _ever – take this pain away from me.

My life seemed to flash by in bits and pieces, a brief flash of a happy childhood, a smile or two as I grew older…and then emptiness. His name was a silent whisper in the memories.

"Are you quite finished?"

Everything stopped. The pain, the words – it all stopped. Nothing mattered.

"You _lesser_ mortals are so dramatic, so overcome by jealously and hatred, and yet…" Oromë trailed off, staring at me while seemingly lost in thought. His eyes were now a dark chocolate brown, soft and warm, unlike the creature that glared down his nose at me.

My head lolled to the side and I stared straight back, taking the chance to observe him.

Oromë was – as his name implied – a dark, imposing figure; he was male, but easily twice the size of any mortal man. He was clothed in a simple white tunic and a pair of leather boots, with a large, ivory horn tied to his belt. In his left hand was a beautifully carved wooden bow, about ten feet in length. A single, silver bowstring held the thing together. And it was identical to those that had ripped through my flesh just moments ago.

But other than those few insignificant details, there was no way to physically describe him. It was as though his form was continually changing, even as I watched him.

Oromë continued softly, speaking in a voice that I'd yet to hear from him. "And yet… I find myself wondering if _you_ are truly the one that He speaks of."

Words escaped me, but he seemed to understand the question forming in my mind.

"You call him God. Yes, you prayed to Him, and He answered _your _prayers. He took mercy upon your soul and cut through my strings," Oromë murmured; this was a foreign concept.

My dead heart seemed to skip a beat, even as it sat in my chest – unmoving.

"We – the Valar – call him Manwë. He is our _King_," he whispered reverently. One long, tanned hand clutched at his bow, knuckles turning white at the force of his grip.

Words barely registered. Darkness was crawling into my vision. I felt myself fading, but I wanted answers. I wanted answers to the questions that plagued me even as I clung to the icy numbness of death.

_God. _

"Yes, God."

_Why did God listen to me? What does God want with me?_

Oromë sighed and he twisted a lock of his hair between two fingers. "Every child of God is given a destiny, though most never discover what that destiny is and live only by their lust and greed. You are His child and, as such, have been given a destiny of your own."

_And what was my destiny – was it simply to die? _

"No, child. You were not meant to die," he said, voice tight as black eyes stared into my soul. He seemed troubled by what he saw there. "You were meant to live a long and happy life…"

_But I didn't. _

"No," he agreed quietly, "…you did not." And after that, he seemed at a loss for words.

_Why?_

Oromë paused, before admitting, "Because it was not destined for you to appear in that world. You were meant to live among the mortal Men of another world, a better world."

…_I do not regret it._

A small, sardonic smile claimed his lips. "I expected nothing less of you, child, not from one as spirited as yourself."

_I am no longer spirited. My desire to live died long ago. _

He offered neither agreement nor disagreement.

…_it died with him, you know._

Thoughts of one person, and one person only, filled my mind. Snippets of the life we had together. But above all, I remembered our promise. I remembered…but only vaguely. _"…together, die together." _It slipped through my fingers, like sand; sand falling in an hourglass. Time had slipped through my fingers.

_I want more time._

Oromë's eyes were cold, his voice solemn, as he asked, "And if I could give you that time?"

My dead heart ached. _…I do not know if I would take it. _

"Why is that, child of Manwë?"

_Because life is meaningless…without the ones that I love to share it with me._

Oromë's lips curled into yet another smile. "You will find love, young one. One love shall be born of memories, one of pain, and yet another of the heart; the last shall be the most important. And it is his love that shall fill your soul and from it, a song shall be born."

'_A song shall be born.' What song? What will it be called? _

Oromë continued on, ignoring my pleas for answers. "Your song shall be sung with all the fervor of the Ainulindalë's Great Music. And when Hope is lost, your song will save him. Remember these words, child, remember them."

_Wait…don't go! What are you talking about? Please, answer me!_

"…remember…remember…"

His words grew fainter, until the only thing I still heard was the sudden beating of my heart. It echoed painfully in the silence, a dull roar in my ears that overshadowed the sound of my own cries. But Oromë never answered, nor did he save me from the icy hands that clutched at my soul, dragging me back into the light.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Me: ...and there it is. At 3:30 in the morning. And with that, I'm off to bed. Night, everybody!

EDIT: I updated this chapter, okay? Just make a note of it. :)


	3. Chapter 2:  Living in a Fantasy

~Chapter Two~

Living in a Fantasy

_Do You Live, Do You Die, Do You Bleed  
>For the Fantasy?<br>In Your Mind, Through Your Eyes, Do You See:  
>It's the Fantasy.<em>

_No Longer Living, Just a Shell of What I Dreamed. _

_~The Fantasy,_ by 30 Seconds to Mars

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>His words grew fainter, until the only thing I still heard was the sudden beating of my heart. It echoed painfully in the silence, a dull roar in my ears that overshadowed the sound of my own cries. But Oromë never answered, nor did he save me from the icy hands that clutched at my soul, dragging me back into the light.<strong>

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><p>What happened next was strange, very strange. One minute, I'm struggling within the clutches of Death, his skeletal hands wrapped around my bleeding wrist, and the next –<p>

_Crash! Bam! Boom!_

– I'm falling through several layers of marble, splintering the precious stone into hundreds of tiny fragments. It was painful having my body thrown around in such a careless manner and I knew that I would likely have dozens of broken bones. If I survived the fall, that is. And yet…the pain I was experiencing now was nowhere near as great as when I had died. Or when I had been tortured – excuse me, _tested_ – by Oromë. For that, I was eternally grateful.

I was shaken from my musings as I hit a particularly nasty section of marble. As I opened my mouth to release a howl of pain, water filled my lungs and I fought to spit it out immediately. My lungs screamed their demands for oxygen. I could feel them shrinking further behind my ribcage as I used more and more of my air supply. Black velvet seemed to cover my eyes and my throat was burning, raw with the need to scream for help.

But there was no one here to help me, and I would not last much longer.

The black veil of death was ripped away from my face quite suddenly. My nostrils flared and, when they did not fill with water, began struggling to catch even the faintest amount of oxygen. I gasped, eyes watering as my head broke the surface of whatever body of water I had found myself in. My throat itched and I left my mouth open, panting in my efforts to suck in as much air as possible.

_Breathe! Sweet oxygen…_

Cries filled the air as I treaded water, but I could not see them yet. My eyes were still bleary and brimming with excess water. "A mortal – in the Lady's mirror!" and "How is that possible?" This was soon followed by a shocked cry of "Boromir!"

A single hand reached over the edge of the marble lining and fisted itself in my shirt just as I was beginning to tire and slip beneath the water once again. I was immediately pulled up and wrapped in something large and soft, a blanket perhaps. For the briefest of moments, I was confused; I had not been wearing clothing when I was with Oromë.

The voices faded in and out as I pondered over the curious situation I had found myself in. First, I had taken my life and, consequentially, I had passed into another world – a strange world in which the Gods, or the Valar, resided. And then I was escorted – by Death! – into yet _another_ world. The irony did not escape me, but I was still wary of my good fortune.

The only question that remained was…which world did I find myself in this time?

Water dripped to the floor, forming a puddle beneath the man that had rescued me. His arms were wrapped tight around my weak form and he so very _warm_. I welcomed both the heat and the protection. My pride would probably complain of this matter later but, for now, I was happy that I had been given the help that I so desperately needed.

"She is fine. A little worse for the wear, but her wounds are nothing that time cannot heal."

"How can you be so calm about this, Boromir? A strange young woman appears within Lady Galadriel's magical mirror and you simply rush to her aid?"

The person that this voice belonged to was clearly pissed off and I made a mental note to not bother him in any shape, way, or form. He didn't seem the type to forgive and forget. Not so easily, at least.

Boromir, apparently the name of the individual that was now carrying me in his arms, growled at the other male. "What would you have me do, _Prince _Legolas – leave her to drown in that bloody mirror?"

Yet another voice joined the fray, overruling the angry retort of the one named Legolas. "Legolas, calm yourself."

This was spoken softly, but every word seemed to ring with authority. The power in those three words chilled me to the bones. I knew that this was yet another one that I didn't wish to cross; it was the always the quiet ones that you had to watch. A shiver crawled its way down my spine and I could not stop the following tremors.

"She is young, but we do not know of what powers she may hold! Never before has someone managed to simply _appear _within the lands of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. It is an impossible feat, Aragorn!" Legolas snapped, his voice tight with anger. He was clearly having trouble suppressing his emotions.

Aragorn was quiet for a moment, considering this, before he said, "I understand your concern, my friend, but it is not fair to judge her for actions that may not even be her own. These are strange times and you are right in the fact that we must take certain precautions. However, we must also acknowledge that this young woman might have been sent to _aid_ us in our mission, and not to _hinder _it." His words were strong and filled with conviction; this was his verdict.

"Then we shall wait for the lass to wake!"

This was yet another new voice and I couldn't help but groan. How was I to help these people, when I didn't even know who they _were?_ Hell, I couldn't even help _myself!_ I was in deep shit – that much was certain.

"We needn't wait any longer, Master Gimli. It appears that she awakens even as we speak!" Boromir exclaimed in surprise.

I scrunched my nose up in confusion. _Why are these names so familiar? I don't know these people, so how is it possible that I could recognize them?_

"Hmm... Perhaps I was mistaken?" Boromir mused. Without a thought, he reached down and stroked my wet, and sorely tangled, hair out of my face.

The motion was so painfully nostalgic that I had to bite back a strangled sob. Instead, I sniffled and did my best to hold the grief inside. Crying would not make much of a first impression on my rescuers. I always looked a mess when I cried; bloodshot eyes, red nose – the works. And I didn't want these people to see me like that right away.

"Come, little one, wake," Aragorn whispered in my ear. "Rejoin the world of the living."

I turned my head to the side. Wearily, I opened my tired eyes, blinking in curiosity at those that surrounded me. _So familiar. Why are they all so familiar?_ I focused on the face that was inches from mine and immediately realized why I'd had this nagging sense of familiarity: I was currently staring into the stormy gray eyes of the future King of Gondor.

Startled, I yelped and threw my arms around the neck of my rescuer, clinging to him with all of my might. A surprising bout of laughter filled the air. I stared at them in silence, dumbfounded at both their laughter and the odd noise that I had issued. It had sounded pathetic, even to my own ears, and I blushed at their sudden mirth. But, in my defense, it was perfectly reasonable that I freak out after finding myself in a fictional world with fictional characters!

"This young lass has quite a set of lungs on her!" The dwarf commented. His brown eyes glinted beneath a mass of curly red hair. It appeared that he found me amusing, like a strange new pet. …delightful.

"Aye," Legolas sourly agreed, "she does at that. Would you care to screech a little more softly next time, my lady?"

I scowled at him. "I beg your pardon, Prince Legolas. Please, forgive me for nearly dying and then startling at the sudden sight of such a dirty group of males staring straight at me."

The Elf appeared startled at first, but quickly regained his composure. "Oh, you are certainly forgiven, my lady." He smirked at me. I wanted to punch his perfect mouth and break his pretty little set of teeth; he wouldn't be smirking after that now, would he?

My eyes narrowed at him; however, I wasn't given the chance to speak. Instead, Aragorn reached over and placed a hand over my mouth. I couldn't help but cringe, not knowing where that hand had been. As it was, any attempts at cursing the Elf to the Underworld would have to wait.

"Aye, little one, you are forgiven for endangering yourself and scaring those around you into a near frenzy," he chided. Oddly enough, a warm pair of gray eyes seemed to be laughing at me as he said this. His eyebrow rose at my confusion. "I wish to speak with you on that matter; we all do, of course. But first, I suggest that we find a healer to tend to your wounds."

"My…wounds?" I repeated, puzzled. _What the hell is he talking about? _ "But I'm not hurt!"

Boromir stared at me, clearly worried. "My lady, you are indeed wounded. Quite severely, I might add." A calloused finger trailed gently over the deep cuts on my left wrist.

I stared at the marks in horror. "Oh, my God. I knew that he was sadistic, but that is just _cruel_. How dare he leave those in plain sight? That ass…"

Aragorn and Boromir exchanged grim looks. Even Legolas' expression appeared to darken at this announcement. The dwarf merely frowned, eyeing my wrists in disapproval. The trio seemed to come to some silent agreement because Boromir turned around and carried me off in the general direction of a group of tents. He ignored the questions of curious Elves as he passed them, intent upon his goal. Aragorn was at his side and Gimli was not far behind.

Legolas, however, had gone in a different direction. The Elf was speaking with his kinsmen, gesturing in my direction occasionally. No laughter accompanied his words but they still seemed to find me to be a source of great entertainment, much like Gimli did. That being said, I'm quite sure that Legolas had nothing nice to say about me.

_Damn Elf._

When we reached the healer's tent, Aragorn held the flap to the side and I was brought inside. Boromir set me down carefully on a clean cot in the corner before sitting down in the chair at its side. Aragorn called an Elf over and spoke to him in rapid Elvish. I had heard it spoken in the Lord of the Rings movies, but this… The beauty of the language invaded my senses and I was filled with a feeling of serene peace. I couldn't wipe away the look of awe that adorned my face as he stepped closer, to which the Ranger grinned slightly. My face flushed with embarrassment.

The healer Aragorn had spoken with followed after a moment and he began his examination. I was told to remove my clothing, but I refused to do so until the males in the room turned away. After I had stripped down to my undergarments – I had been wearing a T-shirt and jeans, oddly enough – the healer documented the wounds on what appeared to be a clipboard or the something similar. Then, the fun started.

_Sadist!_ I screamed in my mind as the healer crept closer. _Sadist, sadist, sadist! I hate doctors!_

I squirmed as he poked and prodded at my bruised, bloodied limbs. My cuts, located on my wrists, ankles, thighs, chest, and neck, were all crusty with old blood. The one on my left ankle was oozing pus and appeared infected. Not to mention that the exhaustion was sneaking up on me. And I was finally beginning to feel the pain of my wounds. Simply stated – I was a wreck.

"Well, it appears that you are suffering from a severe loss of blood. And two of these wounds are infected. It is a miracle that you haven't fainted yet," the young ellon marveled. "In fact, you will be anemic for several days because of these wounds."

Another round of poking and prodding ensued before he continued. "I will stitch these up and apply some ointment to them for the pain. After that, you must rely on the strength of your own will. But you seem spirited. You will certainly recover quickly, my lady," he cheerfully stated.

_Spirited. Why must everyone say that I am 'spirited?' First Oromë and now this guy. It makes me sound like a horse. _I winced as the rest of his diagnosis hit home. _Great. Stitches. And where there are stitches, there are…_

"Needles!" I squealed like a piglet. "Get 'em away!"

The Fellowship – those that were present anyway – watched in amusement as I ran around the tent, leaping over cots and avoiding the arms of one exasperated healer.

"It won't even hurt that much, milady!" he said, panting slightly from the chase.

I glared at the needle in his hand. "No way, José! I am _not_ coming anywhere _near _that weapon of mass destruction! You guys don't even have morphine or Vicodin in this place to dull the pain." With a small scream, I dodged yet another attempt to pin my arms to the wall. "I'm serious! Get _away _from me!"

"But, milady! You need this to heal!"

"I said, 'No!'" I barked. My legs finally buckled under me and I was swayed on the spot. The light in the room flickered in and out with my fading vision. "Oh. Pretty colors…"

Legolas snorted. "I see that this one is just as idiotic as the rest of the female population." Blue eyes were brimming with scorn as they turned their icy gaze upon me.

"Legolas!" Aragorn hissed, his lips twisted downwards in a frown.

A tick twitched in the Man's jaw and I knew that he was one step away from saying something nasty to the elf. So, I saved him the trouble, and possibly his friendship. And it wasn't like I wanted to be friends with the elf; therefore, I didn't have to hold anything back. So much for avoiding his wrath…

"Oi, Prince Long-legs," I called, pointing at the blonde elf. He seemed surprised that I had addressed him. "Yeah, you – the one with the rotten attitude. I bear no ill will against you and your merry band of vagabonds. So I would appreciate it if you left me alone to deal with this evil Elf and his sword."

"Sword?" Boromir murmured. His lips twitched in an effort to keep from laughing.

"Yeah! Have you seen the size of that needle?" I exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "You could slay a dragon with that thing!"

Gimli chuckled heartily and said, "Lass, that little thing couldn't slay a mouse. It isn't anything to be afraid of."

"Says the war veteran," I mumbled.

His eyes lit up. "Ah, you are aware of the battles that I have seen! My scars tell the tales of –"

"Yes, yes," Legolas interrupted the Dwarf with an elegant wave of his hand, "we all know of the many battles you have fought. And most of them have been with my people." After a pause, and a smirk, the Elf said, "Might I add that we have won the vast majority of these battles?"

The Dwarf scowled up at his rival but, once again, Aragorn stole the spotlight. "I believe that it would be wise of us to return to our own tents. Rainion may have more luck with the healing if we are not distracting our young friend."

With a grunt, Gimli left the tent. Legolas followed at his heels, an endless stream of insults escaping his lips, to which the Dwarf immediately responded with venomous words of his own. Boromir rolled his eyes at the pair, but made to follow them. As he reached the tent flap, I hesitantly stopped him.

"Yes, little one?" Boromir inquired, gray eyes lit with curiosity.

I blushed lightly at the nickname, something that he apparently had taken a liking to when Aragorn christened me as such. I had a feeling that the name would stick and soon the taller half of the company would be referring to me as 'little one.' _Oh, joy._

"Would you, ah…would you stay with me?" I asked quietly. "Please?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "You wish for _me_ to stay with you, little one?" For some odd reason, a pair of gray eyes shot to Aragorn.

Ignoring this strange behavior, I nodded emphatically. "Yes, please!"

Aragorn clasped his hand around his friend's shoulder. "It appears that she has taken a liking to you, my friend," he whispered. "And, as her rescuer, she might be more inclined to listen to you…" Aragorn trailed off suggestively.

Catching on, Boromir murmured, "You would have me trick her into getting treatment?"

"It is for the best," Aragorn responded. He squeezed the Man's shoulder and left the tent to follow after the others.

Boromir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. After a moment of consideration, he walked over to the cabinet I was perched upon and held his arms up to me. I carefully slid down the piece of wooden furniture. Once I was safely in his arms, Boromir carried me over to my cot and placed me down once again.

"Stay," he said sternly. He pointed a single, long finger at me and then the makeshift bed.

_I'm going to look like an idiot, but I truly can't help myself. I really want to do it!_

My lips twitched. "Woof, woof!"

Boromir sighed again. "Why me?" he murmured, eyes focused on the ceiling, and I resisted telling him that he shouldn't pray to the idiots known as the Valar.

Instead – and I knew that it had been a rhetorical question – I answered, "Because you remind me of him," I said simply.

The Man appeared startled, be it because I replied or my answer itself, I do not know. He swept a hand through his dark blonde hair while he thought. I smiled sadly when he glanced down at me. He knew – I could tell because it was written all over his face.

_War stole something from me. _I thought bitterly, the familiar line playing over and over in my head like a broken record. _War. He died in the war._

"What was his name?" Boromir asked softly.

My throat constricted painfully and I couldn't help but clutch at my chest. I hadn't spoken his name aloud in months. It was merely a single chord in the lullaby of grief that sang in my heart.

_His name… his name was…_

"Seth," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "His name…was _Seth_."

* * *

><p><em>***<em>Author's Note***

Say it with me now: She will _not_ be Mary-Sue, she will _NOT_ be Mary-Sue!

Anyway, this is - what I hope to be - an original entrance into Middle-Earth. Don't think anyone's done this yet.

And I better not find any copy-cats around, dammit! ((+_+ -Evil Glare of DOOM))

Again, this is posted at...wow, almost 1:00 am. I bid you all...A GOOD NIGHT! :)


	4. Chapter 3:  The Devil Within Me

~Chapter Three~

The Devil Within Me

_I Have Nothing Left to Give.  
>I Have Found the Perfect End.<br>You Were Made to Make it Hurt;  
>Disappear Into the Dirt.<br>Carry Me to Heaven's Arms.  
>Light the Way and Let Me Go,<br>Take the Time to Take My Breath.  
>I Will End Again.<em>

_And I Will Find the Enemy Within,  
>Because I Can Feel it Crawl Beneath My Skin.<em>

_~Dear Agony,_ by Breaking Benjamin

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>My throat constricted painfully and I couldn't help but clutch at my chest. I hadn't spoken his name aloud in months. <em>Six months. <em>It was merely a single chord in the lullaby of grief that sang in my heart. _Six months._**

**_His name… his name was…_**

**"Seth," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "His name…was _Seth_."**

* * *

><p>The air was thick with the sweet smell of honey. Such a tantalizing scent! I took a deep breath, eyes closed with pleasure as I followed my nose to the source. It had been almost two weeks since I'd found myself in the strange pool of water that Galadriel referred to as her 'mirror.' And, after much work on my part, I now knew my way to…the kitchens.<p>

Oh, and I knew the way from my bedroom to the bathhouse, as well! And back. Yes, I've made quite a bit of progress, even if I do say so myself.

"Ah, there you are, Samantha! I have been searching both high and low for the likes of you. Now, where in name of the Valar have you been gallivanting off to again?" Boromir scolded, truly exasperated with me this time.

I stared at him – quite blankly, I might add. "But… I only know my way to three of the _hundreds_ of places in this forest. How the hell did it take you so long to find me?"

A faint blush stole across the Man's nose as he sheepishly mumbled, "I could not find the correct route to the kitchens..."

My eyes danced with amusement and I snickered. "Is that so? And here I was thinking that this little problem was the result of one of _my_ many faults!" I poked him in the side as I passed him, continuing on my quest for food.

Gray eyes glared down at me, flashing like steel in the sunlight. "It _is_ your fault!" he stubbornly insisted. It wouldn't have surprise me in the least if he had suddenly begun pouting. Would have made me laugh, come to think of it.

"Oh. Silly me," I mumbled, all the while thinking – _Men! Can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em. _

Boromir grumbled faintly as he tripped over yet another large tree root. His large feet tended to get the better of him sometimes. If we'd been in America, I was almost positive that he would have worn – at the very least – a size fifteen. Big men need big shoes, after all. Said Man glowered up at the trees, muttering curses and threats at the ancient Oaks.

Blowing my bangs out of my face, I couldn't help but sigh in annoyance. _Scratch that. Men just suck. _I swatted at an insect that was buzzing by my ear. _And so do mosquitoes…_

A loud cry of – "See, Merry! I _told _you that I had seen 'em!" – echoed through the forest, reverberating off the bark of the seemingly hollow trees. Now all I could hear was – "I _told_ you, I _told _you, I _told_ you…"

It was an immensely childish thing to do, but I grinned at the following response, secretly patting myself on the back for a job well done. I was a wonderful influence on the little people, don't you agree?

"…congratulations, Pip. Would you like an award?"

"Um, no thanks. I'd prefer another roll though, if I could!"

Yes, I'd only been here two weeks and I had already made such an impact on the Fellowship. Or, at least – the smaller half of the group. The Hobbits had taken an immediate liking to me, something that I still found rather strange; no one at home had ever been that fond of me. And the Dwarf too, come to think of it. I shrugged it off as a result of my new (and better) attitude.

Death can truly change one's perspective on life; try it sometime and you'll see what I mean.

"Sammy~!"

As it were, I now had an armful of happy Hobbit. My grin widened as I looked down at the two _much_ smaller males. "Wassup, guys?" I asked brightly.

The two Hobbits returned my grin with cheerful expressions of their own. "Nothing much! We were just curious if you were going to join us for elevensies?"

"Of course! I can smell the honey a mile away; it's actually making my stomach growl," I admitted, before poking said section of my body. "Can you hear it? It's screaming, 'Feed me, Sammy! _Feed me!_"

Merry and Pippin giggled, obviously amused at my antics. I smiled to myself, secretly glad that I could offer them a reprieve – any at all – during their perilous quest to escort the Ring to Mordor, even if they weren't currently in any immediate danger. And speaking of the Ring…

Frodo peered up at me curiously, blue eyes shining eerily. "Are you and Boromir joining us, Sammy?"

I nodded slowly at the Hobbit. "Yes, sir! We most certainly are," I said respectfully.

It might sound strange, stupid even, but I tried my best to treat the Hobbits like adults. Because, well, they _were_ adults; they were older than I was, that much was certain! At the very least, I could offer them my respect. And Frodo… He deserved much more than my respect. No, he deserved the world handed to him on a silver platter, because he was certainly a lot braver than I!

And why is that, one might ask? It might have had something to do with that cursed Ring swinging merrily from the silver chain that hung around the young Hobbit's neck. Day and night, night and day… I honestly didn't understand how Frodo could handle such a burden. I would have thrown the little hunk of metal straight into the nearest ocean if I'd been given the opportunity – and the task – of getting rid of the evil little trinket.

_Bling with an attitude. _I thought sourly, eyeing it with a wary expression. _How cute._

But it wasn't a trinket. And I wasn't a hero. Simply stated, it was not my concern at the moment. So I shrugged it off and continued on my way to the kitchens, cheerfully forgetting the Ring for the time being. Ah, yes. Ignorance is bliss.

"Would you care for a roll, Miss?" Sam asked, tentatively offering me the plate of steaming buns.

"Hell yeah!" I declared, before remembering where I was and who I was talking to at that particular moment in time. "Um… I mean, yes. Thank you." I coughed into my sleeve, trying to hide the dark blush that stained my cheeks.

Sam raised an eyebrow at me, disapproval tinting his brown eyes. This was something that happened on a regular basis. Chagrined, I mouthed a silent _Sorry! _I hoped that he'd forgive me this time (he was still rather sore that I'd referred to his chowder as 'soup.'). Upon receiving a faint smile, I relaxed, and returned my attention to my plate.

With a small knife – Boromir refused to let me anywhere near a sword after last week's episode, which had featured his weapon flying off into the sunset – I spread a healthy glob of butter on the first roll. To my left, The Hobbits clasped their hands together and offered both their thanks and their prayers to the Valar. I didn't bother praying; Oromë probably wouldn't listen to me anyway. Or, he'd listen, think that I was mocking him and…kill me again. I honestly did not want to endure that a second time, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

_Better safe, than sorry! That's what daddy always said… _I tightened my hand around my own necklace, even as I stared silently at the one bearing the Ring. _Truer words were never spoken._

Respectfully, I waited for them to finish, but as soon as they had – all bets were off! I immediately shoved the entire roll in my mouth, chewing slowly in an attempt to swallow the small load of bread. I closed my mouth soon after, savoring the rich taste as it the honey trickled over my tongue and down my throat.

"Delicious…" I stated, smiling down at my now empty plate. But I was going to remedy that in the near future; that bread was damn good…

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Legolas smirked, as if it were _he_ that had baked the wonderful treats, and not the hardworking cooks that slaved away in the kitchens. Stupid, lousy Elf Prince, always gloating and…

My stomach growled loudly and Aragorn snickered at the sound, teasingly asking if I was – "Hungry, little one?"

"…no. Not at all, Aragorn. Whatever gave you _that_ idea?" I muttered darkly, glaring up at the Ranger that had seated himself to my left.

The Ranger shrugged, grabbing another roll as he did so. "I haven't the faintest idea, my lady," he said innocently. Gray eyes twinkled merrily as he spared me a glance. And then, like any other male, he quickly forgot my presence and went back to his shoveling food down his throat.

"Feed me!" Boromir mocked in a high-pitched voice.

Pip choked on his mouthful of bread and Merry slapped him on the back to dislodge the choking hazard. The others roared with laughter, but I blushed and smacked the Gondorian on the back of the head, which – because he was sitting down – I could actually reach. Boromir scowled at me and I instinctively knew that I would pay dearly for that later during our next training session. For now, however, I smirked and proceeded to engage in a victory dance. All from the comfort of my own chair.

Gimli chuckled, "Such a strange one, that lass! Always keeping us on our toes!"

Or something along those lines anyway; it was hard to tell because his mouth – and beard – was full of soggy bread. _…yum. Seconds, anyone?_ Legolas, on the other hand, appeared deeply disturbed. But it was hard to tell if it was at my _mildly_ provocative dancing, or Gimli's beautiful display of 'see-food.' Neither was very pretty.

After I had completed my rendition of Rihanna's _Pon de Replay_, I returned to my meal. Acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Legolas sighed, but said nothing; he was slowly beginning to learn that the best course of action when dealing with me was none at all.

And who says that you can't teach an old Elf new tricks?

Aragorn eyed me warily, gray eyes faintly reproachful as he demanded, "Where in the Valar's name did you learn to engage in such indecency?" It appeared that he did not like my dancing; wonder why?

I stared at him, before quipping, "Los Angeles." At least I hadn't lied when answering him.

Everyone was now sporting a confused expression, something that had become quite common in the last two weeks. No one understood my humor, or my dancing apparently. Now, the entire group was staring at me, at a loss, because they were unsure of what town or village I was referring to.

"I have never heard of this 'Los Angeles,' that you speak of," Aragorn admitted, muttering a quick _Thank the Valar for that small miracle._ "Is it near Rohan, perhaps?"

"It certainly isn't anywhere near Gondor," Boromir muttered, clearly disgusted with my dancing.

As the group of males came to an agreement – never heard of it, have you lived there long, is it far away? – I began to panic. I had forgotten how stubborn the members of the Fellowship could be when they were after something; like fucking bloodhounds! And let me tell you this – they _really_ wanted to know more about the life that I had led before I'd found myself in Lothlórien.

So I was forced to say the following: "Home is where the heart is."

I breathed a small sigh of relief when Sam changed the subject. The quiet Hobbit offered his dearest friend another roll, studiously ignoring my presence. Frodo accepted and the matter was closed; for the moment, at least.

However, Aragorn was not to be deterred. "I've traveled for many years now…"

_Yep. You really are an old goat, aren't you?_ I thought wryly. _It's a damn shame, too. I have to admit that I find you quite attractive… _

"…and I have yet to come across anywhere named as such. No new territories have been created as of late, either…"

_Arwen is one lucky girl. _I paused, momentarily struck dumb. _...I mean, Elf. One lucky Elf._

"…how do you explain _that_, little one?" Aragorn finished with a smirk. A clear _I win, you lose_ expression was plastered on his regal face.

Oh, this was going to be good. My head slowly cocked to the side and I drawled, "You do realize that I wasn't paying a bit of attention to you…right?"

The Ranger stared at me, expression devoid of all emotions. Like a blank slate. _Tabula Rasa. _

I waved a hand in front of his face; nothing. Eyebrow raised, I realized that Elvis had left the building. And beat quite a hasty retreat at that. Boromir wasn't watching me carefully enough – not a very good babysitter, that one – so I slipped the knife from his plate and grasped it tightly in my hand. I had yet to receive a response from Aragorn, so I resorted to Plan B.

I slashed the knife through the air and stabbed his left hand. Don't look at me like that… It was a butter knife, not a machete.

Aragorn released a startled yelp, falling back from the chair and landing on the floor in an ungraceful heap. A large mug tipped over, spilling white milk over the Ranger's sleeve as he tried to right himself. Wide eyes stared at his hand as if it were some foreign object. And, as it was currently covered in milk and butter and bread crumbs, I'm sure it was.

Mechanically, Aragorn turned his head and glared up at me. He appeared absolutely furious as he snapped at me. "What was that for, you little terror?"

I smiled, but said nothing. _What happened to 'little one,' Aragorn? _Merely shrugged in response, because I knew it would infuriate him. Boy – was I right on that account!

He gritted his teeth in anger, practically grinding them to dust. "Honestly, were you raised in a _barn?_"

"Racist," I sang out cheekily. "Discrimination!"

Aragorn shut his mouth, but continued giving me the Evil Eye. If looks could kill, I would certainly be on my way to the Great Beyond once again. And Aragorn would probably be joining me soon after, seeing as Oromë would most definitely kill the idiot that sent me back to disturb the peace of his little sanctuary.

No one seemed to want me around today. That thought didn't sit very well; I remembered very well what it was like to be all alone. And I did _not_ want to return to that horrible, empty lifestyle. Not now, not ever.

So why did I always push people away? _I wish…_

Aragorn was giving me a rather strange look; in fact, he appeared disturbed. "Sammy, are you…?"

"Why is she crying?" Boromir suddenly demanded. He didn't even wait for explanation; instead, he sent a rather dirty glare at the Ranger. "…Aragorn?"

"I… I'm _sorry_," I whispered. My voice cracked as I repeated the mantra – "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry."

The two Men were confused, to say the least. But I couldn't blame them. Honestly, _I _didn't even know what I was apologizing for…

Harassing Legolas. Clinging to Boromir. Hurting Aragorn.

_I wish…_

My cursing, my attitude, my stupidity.

_I wish…_

Boromir was one step away from strangling him, so Aragorn hastily set about fixing the situation. Or, in his case –

"There isn't any point in crying over spilt milk, little one," he said sagely.

And that was all. I wasn't going to receive a hug, or even a smile. Just a few wise words.

_War stole something from me…_

Had it been another time, another place… Had I been the girl that I was a year ago, I would have laughed. I would have laughed so hard that I was brought to my knees, with tears in my eyes. But now…

For no explanation at all, I was suddenly beyond angry; I was _infuriated._

With an unpleasant sneer on my face, I scowled at Aragorn. "You know, you weren't quite this fresh in Tolkien's books –"

I froze, suddenly very aware of why I had decided to avoid contact with these people. And yet, here I was…in the kitchens…eating lunch with the entirety of the Fellowship. My stomach sank, slowly burying itself deeper into my shoes. I visibly deflated, no longer angry. With a sigh, I picked up my plate and stalked towards the kitchens, depositing the dirty dish in the sink. My appetite was suddenly gone.

Ignoring the calls of the Fellowship, I ran down an unfamiliar hallway and into a small garden. I heard them approaching, so I quietly slipped through a hole in marble wall that lined the bed of roses. My hands were scraped and my knees bloody by the time I had dug my way to the other side. As I glanced around, I realized that it wasn't a garden, but the serene valley that the Lady of Light had placed her mirror.

"Lady Samantha! Where are you?"

I cringed, but stayed silent. My lips trembled as I stared into the water, ashamed that I had left the kitchens like I had. Essentially, I had stormed off – much like a spoiled child would. But I was not angry with Aragorn, or anyone else for that matter. I was just disappointed.

After twenty miserable years of life, I had finally been given the chance to fit in and participate in a worthwhile cause – saving Middle Earth _was_ a worthy cause, don't you agree? – and yet, I couldn't allow myself to get any closer than I already was with these eight individuals. Any mention of my world, and I would be tempted to tell them the truth. I couldn't afford for that to happen. There must be no words of wisdom, no suggestions, and no hints.

Because if I slipped up, even once…

The consequences would be dire.

"'Destiny is not a matter of chance, but of choice,'" I quoted, thinking back to the lectures on William Jennings Bryan that I had heard in my college history courses. "'Not something to wish for, but to attain.'"

The water rippled, sensing my presence. Circles within circles. _He died in the war. _

My heart ached as I repeated the last line once more. "'Not something to wish for.'"

_War. _Like clockwork, another circle reached the marble rim. _He died in the war._

Wind whistled through the trees, an ancient language that only they understood. I sighed quietly, wondering if I really deserved to be _here_, in Middle Earth. After all, I wasn't needed for anything; the people of this world saved themselves in the end. What should it matter that I had made such a stupid wish?

_His name was Seth._

"But isn't that exactly what I did?"

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Announcer's Voice: Who is Seth? Will we ever find out?

Me: ...maybe. XD

Announcer: And will we ever learn of Aragorn's feelings for Sammy?

Me: ...um, later? ;P

Announcer: Will Shadowsammy EVER go to sleep?

Me: ...zzzzzz


	5. Chapter 4: Home Is Where the Heart Is

~Chapter Four~

Home Is Where the Heart Is

_There's a Wild, Wild Whisper  
>Blowin' in the Wind,<br>Callin' Out My Name  
>Like a Long Lost Friend.<em>

_Oh, I Miss Those Days  
>As the Years Go By…<br>Oh, Nothin' Sweeter than Summertime,  
>And American Honey.<em>

_So Innocent, Pure and Sweet.  
>American Honey.<em>

_~American Honey,_ by Lady Antebellum

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>My heart ached as I repeated the last line once more. "'Not something to wish for.'"<strong>

**_War. _Like clockwork, another circle reached the marble rim. _He died in the war._**

**Wind whistled through the trees, an ancient language that only they understood. I sighed quietly, wondering if I really deserved to be _here_, in Middle Earth. After all, I wasn't needed for anything; the people of this world saved themselves in the end. What should it matter that I had made such a stupid wish?**

**_His name was Seth._**

**"But isn't that exactly what I did?"**

* * *

><p>A twig snapped in the near vicinity, and I tensed, expecting one of the Fellowship to come tearing through the bushes at any moment. Unwelcomed, and uninvited. Instead, a young woman entered the valley. She was tall, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. A white, silk dress was her choice in attire, and she wore no shoes. Her hair was flowing loosely down her back in golden waves. But all of this simplicity was hard to notice when placed against such an elegant creature. Yes, a creature – because she wasn't a member of the human race; she was an Elf.<p>

"It was to be expected," she whispered, words soft and musical even in such a tense moment. A sympathetic expression flashed across her features as she glanced in my direction.

I was all too aware of what she meant, but I chose to feign ignorance. "What was to be expected?" I asked innocently, staring at everything but the beautiful woman that spoke to me.

Her blue eyes flickered faintly, a small star appearing in the pupil of each eye. Silver stars, both bright and omnipotent in nature. Her lips tilted upwards, as if she knew – and understood – what I was thinking at that moment.

I frowned. _This woman couldn't possibly be able to read my mind. I mean, I know that this world is one of magic – unlike my own – but that is just absurd. Unless…_ My breath caught in my throat. _Lady Galadriel! _

The Lady graced me with a sly smile as she crept closer. "Tell me, young one: what do you think of my mirror?"

Galadriel gracefully waved a hand in the general direction of her mirror, the source of her power, and the place where my newest adventure had begun. The marble basin appeared innocent enough, but I knew that it was brimming with ancient magic. I didn't dare step any closer, for fear that it might develop a mind of its own…

I did _not _want to return to my miserable existence back on Earth. No fucking way in hell.

"It is…" I paused, pondering my words carefully; not wanting to offend her. "It is an interesting thing, to be sure. But I am not fond of it in the least."

"And why is that, young one?" Galadriel inquired softly.

I bit my lip, before bluntly admitting, "It scares the hell out of me."

Galadriel paused as she reached for a silver pitcher, fingers frozen in midair as she stared at me with wide eyes. The silver stars grew in size and brightened, until the black of her pupil disappeared entirely. She appeared blind as she stared at me. But that was not the case because Lady Galadriel saw a great deal more than the average person.

"It should, my child. My mirror is not a thing to be trifled with," she said, sighing as she continued, "But it will not harm you."

I eyed the mirror dubiously. "Are you absolutely _positive_ about that? Because I distinctly remember breaking a great deal of marble within that thing as I fell into this world. I honestly wouldn't blame it if the mirror decided to seek vengeance for my, er – less than gentle entrance."

The mirror glowed faintly, and only for a second, but it was enough to scare me shitless.

"Did… Did that thing just _wink_ at me?" I asked hoarsely. "Oh, my God! It _did _wink at me!"

Galadriel chuckled and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder as she floated by, intent upon the marble basin. In her hands was the silver pitcher that she had been reaching for a moment ago. I blanched, my mind running in overdrive as I connected the dots. Images, music, and the words of a prophetess… All were dredged from the shadows of my mind, distant memories that I had almost forgotten.

_I remember now… She had that pitcher when Frodo was here, probably only mere hours ago. _

I thought back to the first movie, trying to remember what she had said to the solemn Hobbit. Frodo had been wary of the Lady, and with good reason. Someone with her strength, with her _power_, could easily overtake the bearer of the Ring. Or whatever power lay dormant within myself. It would be easy to do so. And then everything would change.

I could not let that happen.

The female Elf calmly poured the clear water into her mirror, a serene expression on her face, despite the fact that she could clearly read my mind and delve into all its inner workings. She could discern my past, my present, and with her mirror – she could foretell my future.

"Will you gaze into the mirror, Child of Manwë?"

Before I was even aware of the action, my head was swinging back and forth, frantically depicting my vehement – "No!"

I absolutely _refused _to look in that unpredictable mirror. There was no telling what horrors I would be subjected to and I didn't _want _to witness my future before it happened. It was bad enough that I knew what occurred after one experienced death; no way did I want to know the future, as well!

"It is said that even the wisest of beings cannot tell what is to be seen within this mirror, unless they glance into it themselves," Galadriel warned, voice as hard as steel.

I sucked in a breath, waiting for what was to come. The words that would surely change everything – for better or for worse.

Her eyes lightened once again, as she stared at my chest, focused on the spot where my heart was frantically beating. "Even so…"

Chills crawled up and down my spine, sinking their claws into my clammy flesh. I shivered, truly frightened, as I listened to Galadriel speak. Her words rippled through the air and, true to her people, she shot them straight at my heart. The female Elf was quiet for a moment, thinking on the matter.

"I have seen what you shall witness, my dear. And I must say that not all is as it seems," she finally said. However, the light in her bright blue eyes dimmed faintly, as she continued, "But I am afraid that much of what you shall see _will_ come to pass. And not even the Valar will have the power to stop it."

I cringed, not knowing what to say to that. Her words were eerie, and I didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

Blue eyes focused on my face once again. "You_ must_ look into the mirror, Samantha May Steel."

My stomach sank. Not only had she called by my full name, but she had _commanded _that I look into the mirror; Frodo had been given the _option_ of doing so. I was not given a choice. In fact, I was almost positive that she would force me should I even think about leaving.

"The mirror shows many things," Galadriel whispered reverently, "and it is these things that you will base your decisions upon. It shall undoubtedly shape your future."

Everything was silent as I stepped forward, my sights set upon the seemingly benign marble basin. The birds were quiet, the trees did not whisper, and the songs of the Elves had ceased. All waited in peaceful calm as I stopped in front of the mirror. I stared at the rim, tracing a single finger over the marble. It was sharp, and my finger bled. A trickle of crimson life slipped over the edge of the basin, into the crystal water of the mirror, and into the black oblivion that I had been born of.

_I wish…_

Galadriel gasped softly, her thin form shaking with emotion as the mirror began to glow. I held my breath, counting the seconds that passed with the growing number of heartbeats that faded into silence. _It is time…_ Eyes widened as I heard the words. _It is time for you to stand, and fight for your place in this world. _My heart stopped. _But first, you must remember…_

And all around me were the explosions of stars, flashes of blue light, and the sound of a song echoing in my ears as I fought to keep my eyes open. The laughter of children rippled through the air and I heard a boy calling my name, over and over – _Sammy! Come and play with me, Sammy!_

"Seth!" I whimpered, his name flowing over my lips like water in the desert. "…Seth?"

_Sammy, where are you? Where did you go? Sammy… _

And I was flying, wind rushing through my hair as I traveled over a familiar expanse of green grass. Acre after acre of land flashed through my mind in mere seconds. It was an endless memory of beautiful meadows, mountains, and rivers. Flowers – yellow, blue, and purple. Horses of all shape and size ran through the fields, heads thrown back as they called their joy to one another; a family.

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam! Call my name, you know who I am! _

A crisp breeze rustled my hair and I was no longer airborne. My bare feet touched the ground and I began to run, the grass whispering with my footsteps. The red, wooden door swung open before I had even placed my hand on the doorknob, and it creaked to a stop as I entered the room. Dust covered the furniture, but it was clear that someone lived here. Among the debris and broken memories.

I darted through the living room, past the dying embers that lay in the fireplace, and up the broken steps. A hallway, each wall lined with countless doors. I did not bother with any of them. Instead, I was focused upon the last door, the one that was etched into the wall furthest from me. It was not unlike the others – old and made of rotting wood. Red paint…peeling, flaking…

Falling to the floor like drops of blood.

_Sammy, where did you go?_

The rusty doorknob turned slowly in my hand. Another door creaked open, swinging to the right and blocking the only source of light in the room – a shattered window, broken by a baseball when we were eight. I crept forward, silently scanning the room for a suitable hiding place; finally settling upon the old crib that had been placed among the boxes of Christmas ornaments. I inched my way further under the wooden piece of furniture, smiling when I saw the blue and green fingerpaint. Two small hands – one belonging to a female child; the other, a male – were intertwined at the pinkie fingers. A silent promise.

_Born together, die together!_

"I found you…"

My head turned slowly to the side and I couldn't help but laugh at the gleeful expression that shone upon his face. His cheeks were flushed from the wind, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile widened. A chipped front tooth, a pale scar under his right eyebrow, and a mischievous glint in his green eyes… These were only three of the many things that I loved about him.

"Ah, so you did," I said – rather cheekily, I'll admit. "But you still haven't beaten my record!"

Seth sighed heavily. "And I doubt that I ever will. 'tis quite a shame," he dramatically stated. After that, he elegantly bowed and placed his hand – palm open – in front of my face.

I grabbed the offered hand and he gently pulled me from my hiding spot. His blonde hair shifted, fluttering in the soft breeze that blew in through the broken window. I sat down next to him on the dusty attic floor, but I kept my eyes on the few pieces of jagged glass that still remained in the wooden frame. He followed my gaze to the window and smiled.

"It seems like a hundred years have passed since we broke that old thing," he murmured, clearly nostalgic as he thought back to our childhood. One full of laughter and love.

I snorted, not even bothering to hide the derisive sound. "What do you mean 'we,' pale face?"

Seth burst into laughter. "True, true," he admitted. "I suppose it _was _my hands wrapped around the baseball bat, eh?"

"Damn straight," I muttered under my breath. "And daddy caught you red-handed, too!"

"Hmm… Still pissed that you had to do time with me?"

With a sour expression on my face, I glared at him. "Yes… Yes, I am. And I can't help but _wonder_ why that is, Seth."

Oddly enough, I _was_ still sore over the fact that I had been punished for his idiocy. But I couldn't help it – I was _always _being dragged into his nonsense! For one reason, and for one reason only…

_Born together, die together!_

We were two halves of a whole. He was the light; I was the dark. He was the sun, and I was the moon. We both had strengths and weaknesses, just as we both had flaws. The two of us were both separate people, but together – we were stronger, faster, and smarter. Better in every single way.

A lazy smirk claimed his lips, and he drawled, "Serves you right, Sammy."

I raised an eyebrow at this; curious as to how he would justify this belief.

"You've always been in my shadow," Seth said softly. Green eyes were earnest as he whispered, "There for me… Just as I was there for you. And together, we are all that either of us will ever need. Remember that, okay?"

His warm hand cupped my cheek and a small kiss was placed upon my forehead. I leaned into his touch, savoring it because I knew that this wouldn't last much longer. This was merely a memory of what once was my life; a dream. It was no longer real. And I was needed elsewhere.

I stared at him, my heart aching as he retreated. We both knew that things were about to change. Seth had been the one to decide that, after all. _He _was the one that had accepted his 'duty' as a man, and signed up to join the military. And _he _was the one that had left me crying on the doorstep as he left to start his tour in Iraq. But only I knew that he wouldn't be coming home. Always a house, forever more; never a home. Never again.

The young man stood up and dusted off his desert fatigues, returning his cap to his head with a wide, proud smile. He was serving his country, but in doing so…

_War stole something from me. _

He was leaving me.

"Are you leaving already?" I whispered my question, throat tight as I thought back to the night that I had received word of his death.

_We're sorry, ma'am. He fought bravely ma'am. Saved a bunch of lives; recipient of the Purple Heart. Brave man._

Green eyes dimmed as he turned towards the window once more. "Yeah, I need to get going. The guys need me, you know?" A small, sad smile. "But you need me, too…"

"Yeah, I do." I swiped a hand across my eyes, furiously scrubbing away the tears. "But you needn't worry about me. I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself. I just might need a little help at times, that's all."

Seth wrapped his arms around me and I breathed in the familiar scent of hay and sunshine. A single hand stroked its way through my hair and down my back, before resting itself on my hip. I glanced up at him, smiling – knowing, as always, what he was going to say before it was even said. An action that was second nature to both of us. Two halves of the same whole. Twins.

We whispered the words in one, soft voice, pleading – "Don't forget me."

"Never ever," I promised him as he faded with the receding sunlight.

Darkness stalked into the room, erasing any sign that he had been there. The crib crumbled under my trembling hand, turning to dust as it fell apart – a lost memory of a happy childhood. My fingers were stained blue and green as I sat among the dirt and dust and debris, holding the baseball in my hands, a smile on my face. And I was left to live in the shadows, as I had for the last twenty years; a ghost.

He may have broken our promise, but I kept it. _Born together, die together. _

War stole him from me, but I took him back. _War… War stole something from me. _

Death tried to keep us apart, but I fought him. _I wish… _

And now, I was being given a brand new start in an entirely different world. I was being given the chance to live again, to fight among friends – new and old. I was being given the chance to find my twin again.

_Seth… His name was Seth._

I was going home.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Well, you guys wanted to know who the guy was - so here he is, in Chapter Four of _Sacrifice_!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you...SETH!

*Crowd Goes Wild*

And next chapter, we shall see what the future holds for our heroine. MUAHAHAHAHA!


	6. Chapter 5:  Over the Edge

~Chapter Five~

Over the Edge

_So Hard to Make it Through;  
>The Past Always Catches Up With You.<br>So Afraid of What You'll Do,  
>When No One's There to Help You Choose.<em>

_Some Things Never Change.  
>Deep Under the Ground You'll Make Your Way,<br>The Choice Has Just Been Made.  
>Sit Back and Fucking Pray.<em>

_You've Found a New Romance.  
>You Only Have Everything to Lose.<br>Everything to Lose._

_~Everything to Lose,_ by Trapt

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>And now, I was being given a brand new start in an entirely different world. I was being given the chance to live again, to fight among friends – new and old. I was being given the chance to find my twin again.<strong>

**_Seth… His name was Seth._**

**I was going home.**

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><p>It was such an odd feeling to have your soul placed – and by <em>placed,<em> I mean _thrown_ – back into your body. Over and over again, this seemed to happen to me. And if one were to simply say that I was becoming accustomed to the sensation, then their words might very well be classified as the Understatement of the Year. Or whatever they called a rotation of 365 days in this world; I had a hard time remembering the more miniscule details from this story…

Like what I'd had for lunch today. Of course, if this continued for much longer, I would be able to make a rather accurate guess. Vomit had a tendency to carry with it the chunks of previous meals; leftovers. Such a pleasant thought indeed.

After the nausea had subsided, I slowly got to my feet, bracing shaking hands on my knees to pick myself up. The dizziness also appeared to fade as I stepped closer to the mirror, so I quickly propped myself up against the marble basin in an attempt to catch my breath. Breathing in through my nose and releasing the oxygen from mouth. There was no sense in blacking out again.

_Inhale. And exhale. Inhale and…what the fuck?_

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realized that I was _not _where I had originally thought myself to be upon waking up. The scenery had changed: green leaves were actually purple and the strong wooden bark belonged to Weeping Willows, not the Oak trees that were native to Lothlórien. The forest that I had automatically assumed a part of the Golden Woods was actually…

"No!" I wailed, feeling horribly ill at ease as I realized that I was in – "…The Hall of Mandos! Not _again!_"

A heavy sigh drifted by my form and the surrounding trees shifted in the makeshift breeze, bending to the will of the Vala as he entered the valley. The male was dressed in clothing similar to the ones he had worn at our last meeting, but the detailed embroidery was continuously changing once again. Black, green, blue, and finally – white, stained red with blood.

In his left hand he held a small, silver hunting knife; in the other, a dead hare – the source of the blood. His wooden bow was strapped to his back along with a quiver of arrows, the latter of which were made from the feathers of an American Bald Eagle. I narrowed my eyes at them, wondering if this was coincidental, or if the stupid Vala was mocking the national symbol of my heritage. Wouldn't put it past him, the –

"Stupid rat bastard," I mumbled to myself, forgetting that absolutely _nothing_ remained secret for long in this place; not even my thoughts were my own.

"I am not mocking you, Child of Manwë. So please, keep your thoughts to yourself and – for both our sakes – _hold your tongue!_" Oromë snapped, whilst carelessly throwing his prize on a nearby patch of grass in irritation.

I recoiled at the wet sound of the bloodied creature hitting the earthen floor of the forest. It had landed a mere foot away from where I was standing, so I inched backwards and away from the nearly decapitated hare. Its head lolled to the side and two pink eyes stared up at me in an accusatory manner – as if it were asking me why I had not fought to save it.

"Silly creature, you cannot save everyone," Oromë murmured. There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then he solemnly added, "You are foolish for thinking that that such a thing is possible. In fact, it would be best for you to accept the concept of death, as it is a natural part of the circle of life."

_That sounds rather ominous… _

Hesitantly, I raised my hand and asked, "Does this mean that I'm honestly dead this time around?"

I felt like a child, standing there with a hand in the air, as if asking for permission to speak. However, I couldn't quite help it. I was too busy trying not to think about what my death would entail: dark, empty silence until the end of time. _I'm sorry, but spending eternity with this idiot just isn't that appealing; no offense._

The Vala snorted quietly. "Why must you always ask me such pointless questions? You will know the answer when the time comes, and no sooner."

"…fortune cookie," I whispered into the silence, hoping to annoy him again. Stupid, yes – but it was just so damn hard to quell the spirit of a prankster.

"Do not tempt me, child," Oromë warned, black eyes glinting with what appeared to be _mischief _as he threatened to dismember me; successfully, this time. "But you are safe for the moment… As it stands, I need you in one piece for what I am to show you."

My brow furrowed in confusion and I slowly drawled, "So… I'm not dead?"

A weary sigh as he responded with a – "No, child. Now do hold your tongue and _listen_ to me for a moment." Oromë ran a bloodied hand through his hair and further explained, "You are here at the request of one of the Elves. Lady Galadriel wishes for me to speak with you on the matter of your future."

I was startled, to say the least. The Lady of Light was such an influential being that she could dictate the actions of the _Valar? _No wonder Galadriel was so happy when she had passed her test and refused to take the Ring! It would have been _disastrous _had the Ring procured her power for its own…

That was a rather scary idea in itself, so I didn't bother continuing along that line of thought. It would definitely give me nightmares. Didn't need any more help in that area.

The Lord of Forests said nothing. He merely raising a single dark eyebrow in my direction, seemingly amused at my thoughts. With a huff, I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled up at him. Oromë narrowed a pair of mint green eyes at me – eyes that reminded me eerily of my Twin, I realized with a shiver – and I felt my chest tighten with anxiety.

"What?" I muttered, oddly self-conscious as he continued staring at me with that unreadable expression on his face. "…you aren't going to try to kill me again, are you?"

Oromë waved my concerns away with a long, slender hand. "Nonsense. I have never once tried to kill you, silly mortal. After all, you were already dead when you arrived here in the Hall of Mandos."

Here, he gave me a stern look, seemingly still annoyed with me. Was it honestly that big a deal that I had taken my own life? It was mine to take, was it not?

With a twitch of my left eye, I snapped, "What does it matter anyway?" This entire sequence of events was seriously beginning to grate on my nerves – which were already frayed – and I was having a hard time keeping a check on my raging temper.

"Oh, it matters quite a bit, I'm afraid," he dryly said. "The fact that you willingly took your life, and for the sole purpose of keeping such a pure promise with a loved one, places you in high regards within the powers of these realms."

"Huh… I thought that you _hated _me," I pointed out, thoroughly puzzled at his calm manner. He _had_ tried to dismember me at our last meeting, so why was the Vala being so patient with me this time around?

Oromë pondered on this comment, before admitting, "It is true that I am not very fond of you; however, you are the heir to…" He paused briefly, and then continued, "You are a Child of Manwë and, as such, you are also something precious to my King. It is my duty to act in his stead and to supply you with any knowledge necessary to the completion of your quest – to fulfill your purpose."

I warily opened my mouth to ask the corresponding question: "And what exactly _is_ my purpose? Pray tell, o' omnipotent one."

Golden eyes glittered dangerously – a warning, perhaps – as he whispered, "To change the fate of this world…and that of your own."

Inhaling sharply and hissing in disbelief. "Do _not_ make fun of me! My death may not have meant anything to _you,_ but that _does not_ give you the right to mock it," I said angrily, practically spitting the words in his face. Daring him to say anything else.

"As I have said before, child: I am _not_ mocking you," Oromë said softly. His entire demeanor had shifted. It was almost…_timid, _as he murmured, "You will suffer much heartache, but you must succeed."

That did not compute because such a thing was not probable. Not for me. I was nothing special, just a girl barely into womanhood. Yes, I was dedicated and a hard worker – I'd been raised on a ranch and taught to care for our horses and cattle from a young age – but only if I was interested in the subject matter. Eventually, I had grownn tired of that life and after I had graduated high school, I enrolled in an art institute several states away. My chosen major was music.

_And when Hope is lost, your song will save him. _

Had I unintentionally set myself on this path? Or was it chosen for me, long before I was even born?

I was intelligent, more so than the average person, but I wasn't a genius by any means. My mind wandered easily and I hated chess with a passion; strategy was not my forte. Thus, there was no way in _hell_ that I could withstand the workings of destiny. And nothing I had ever said or done had made an impact on another person's life. I wasn't capable of anything quite as amazing as saving a world, not like those that had been inducted into the Fellowship of the Ring. All of them were smart, loyal, and strong – men worthy of such a destiny.

And, as for myself… I was only average, so why should I be expected to change the course of destiny?

Golden eyes hardened and he snarled, "You _must!_"

I recoiled, shocked at his harsh tone. The sudden movement caused me to trip over a root, one that had been hidden beneath a mound of yellow moss. And down I went. I didn't bother to stand again, too dumbfounded to do much of anything, let alone argue my points. Debating with a god? A lesser mortal does not have that right, or that power.

Average…

Yes, I was average and I had absolutely nothing to say; a rare occurrence. It was warranted, however, because this news was quite shocking. Never before had I lived for a cause greater than myself – I was young and inexperienced in the harsh realities of the world. I'd been sheltered my entire life. Not materialistic or spoiled in any sense, but admittedly selfish. My brother was the only person that I'd ever truly loved and the only person that I had sought to verify my worth; if he approved of my actions, I was happy. No one else mattered.

_And together, we are all that either of us will ever need. Remember that, okay?_

"That must change, child. It is high time that you learn to live for someone other than yourself."

The Lord of the Forests gestured to the mirror, urging me to step forward and embrace my destiny; however, that was much easier said than done. I was still rooted to the spot (no pun intended) and I couldn't quite muster the courage to approach the marble basin for _again_. It had been hard enough the first time, thank you very much.

But I was not given a chance to continue on with that line of thought, as I was roughly picked up – under the armpits no less – and hefted into the air. My vehement protests went unheard as Oromë carried me to the mirror, bringing us closer and closer with every step. Heart pounding in my chest, echoing loudly in my head: _thump…thump-thump-thump…thump!_

"_No!_" I sobbed loudly, struggling to free myself from his embrace. Failing miserably. "I don't want to know! Please, I'll do anything…anything you want! Just don't make me go –"

_Splash!_

Once again I was submerged in an ocean of darkness, gasping for air with lungs that screamed. I did my best to ignore the pain rippling through my muscles as I fought to swim against the current. Wave after wave of water pulled me deeper into the depths of the mirror and nothing I did brought me any closer to the fading light. A shadow darkened the heavens and I opened my mouth to beg him for my life.

_Save me. Somebody, please save me…_

"You must save yourself this time, child. The fates of many rest on your survival. So fight!"

I wanted to scream at him that I could not do such a thing. Seth had always fought on my behalf, after all. I was merely the brains behind the operation; he was the muscle. Brute strength. Never before had I been required to lift a finger to protect myself.

And then he had died.

An arrow whizzed by my ear and I ducked, barely dodging the onslaught of foreign projectiles. I darted over the damp grass, stumbling occasionally on severed limbs and rusty weapons, and slipping through a sea of blood: crimson life. Battle cries and the moans of the dying filled the air, impossible to ignore as I searched for a place to hide. To cover my ears and pretend that I was elsewhere – _Not here, not here, not here! _Tears streaked down my cheeks and I swiped a hand across my snotty nose. Scared; I was so very _scared._

"Kill the witch!"

I cried out in surprise and raised a shaking hand to brush the gaping wound on my face, the only indication that I had been hit; grazed by an arrow. Blood ran over my aching cheek, down my neck, and under the neckline of my tunic – an ounce of _my_ life trickling through _my_ fingers as I watched with wide eyes, stunned and unable to move.

Family was blood. Blood was life. No family, no blood, no life.

_I don't want to die…_

Suddenly, a heavy weight settled in my hands and my eyes slowly slid downwards to stare – blankly – at the familiar weapon that had mysteriously appeared there….like magic. In my grasp, I held a long, slim handle, to which a metal blade the length of my arm was firmly attached. Sharp and deadly. A single finger traced the blue hieroglyphics that were etched on the silver bar, glowing faintly as I translated them into my own language: _Sacrifice._

Panicked, as I screamed in my head – _But I don't __**want **__to die! _

Death… A distant memory flitted through my mind, of a black coffin being lowered into the ground. It was wrapped snuggly in an American flag; an honor. And dozens of red roses lined the grave, disappearing as the hole was filled with dirt. Now, his face was hidden beneath a mountain of fresh earth. No more smiles.

I could not go with him this time.

Seth was dead.

_War stole something from me, but never again. _My mouth settled in a firm line. Grimly vowing to myself: _I will not let them die!_

Metal whistled like a song as I repeatedly swung the blade through the air, separating heads from bodies. Decapitation. In my mind, such a gruesome death was only fitting for these creatures. Screams of terror echoed in my ringing ears – some of them my own – as I gave in to the overwhelming urge to _kill._ To survive and to protect what was dear to me. Always.

_Call my name, you know who I am!_

Blue eyes widened, pupils contracting in fright as I recognized the voice. I was paralyzed with fear as I realized that it was _not_ Seth calling for me. _Not _my older brother instigating a game of chase or hide-and-seek. This was not a game.

This was war.

"Aragorn!" I shrieked in horror, his name practically torn from my throat as determined gray eyes met my own.

_War stole something from me._

My hands tightened around my weapon, my only method of protection. _Sacrifice. _Its name was whispered against my lips and I realized that I was saying it aloud, screaming it to myself in an effort to get my feet to cooperate. Move, dammit! _Sacrifice yourself for him!_

"_Aragorn!_"

And I threw myself from the cliff, chasing after the future of this world.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

DIE, WRITER'S BLOCK...DIE!

Ugh...it felt like it took me forever to get through this chapter. I had the first three pages done for the longest page and then - nothing.

I was like, "WTF, man? Where did meh awesome skillz go?" XD

But overall, I'm really quite happy with this chapter. So I hope that you guys like it as much as I do. :)

P.S. BACK TO THE FELLOWSHIP IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! And then...into the WILD! (As Aragorn would say. ;P) Good night, all!


	7. Chapter 6:  Growing Pains

~Chapter Six~

Growing Pains

_Just Let Me Say One Thing:  
>I've Had Enough.<br>You're Selfish and Sorry;  
>You'll Never Learn…<br>How to Love.  
>As Your World Disassembles,<br>Better Keep Your Head Up._

_~Bitter Taste,_ by Three Days Grace

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>My hands tightened around my weapon, my only method of protection. <em>Sacrifice. <em>Its name was whispered against my lips and I realized that I was saying it aloud, screaming it to myself in an effort to get my feet to cooperate. Move, dammit! _Sacrifice yourself for him!_**

**"_Aragorn!_"**

**And I threw myself from the cliff, chasing after the future of this world.**

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><p>It was silent as I sat in the boat, rocking gently in time to the swell and ebb of the water as it lapped against the wooden boards. My feet were dangling over the edge of the boat and I smiled softly as I gazed at the scenery, thinking back to the days when Seth and I had hiked into the rich, green forests of the Rocky Mountains. The strong, majestic mountains extended into the state of Wyoming, circling our ranch like a guardian angel. Every summer, we would visit the nearby lake; it was our favorite haunt. He and I would spend hours – days even – in our safe haven. Playing, joking, and laughing. Together…<p>

"And what are you smiling so sweetly about, lass?"

With a jolt, I realized that the speaker was directing his question at me. He had said 'lass,' and I was the only girl in our group, after all. I turned to face the Dwarf, surprised that someone had spoken – let alone to _me _of all people. Gimli appeared to understand my shock because he grinned sheepishly, brown eyes hinting at the fact that it hadn't been his choice to keep me separated from the rest of the group. To shun me.

Gimli sighed heavily and his mustache quivered in response. "I understand that yer upset, lass, but ignoring me isn't the way to go about making any friends." It was quiet, and then another soft sigh as he realized that I didn't want to answer him.

"…I was thinking about my brother," I admitted finally. Relishing the feeling of the words as soon they trickled over my lips; I'd not spoken in almost three days. "About how we used to hike through the woods near our ranch every summer, just the two of us and our horses."

"His name is Seth, yes?" Legolas asked suddenly and I pondered on his use of the present tense in regards to my brother; strange it was. Blue eyes sought my own and I saw the unspoken apology in them, lingering in his wise gaze even as he turned away.

I fought the urge to yell at him for being such a coward. _Apologize to my face, you insensitive bastard! _

Instead, I nodded, albeit hesitantly. Why were they speaking to me now? No one, save for Boromir, had even _looked_ at me since the night they found me staring into the Lady's mirror, screaming at the horrible images rippling through the water. Hands gripping the marble so hard that the gashes on my wrists had split open. There was blood everywhere.

That night, it had been made clear to them that I was a danger – both to them, and myself.

Just as Oromë had predicted, my powers had emerged only seconds after I had reappeared in the forests of Lothlórien. The magic had roared to life like a fire on a cold winter's night – literally. In fact, I had accidentally set fire to a few of the ancient trees that lined the valley containing the Lady's mirror and it had taken more than two dozen Elves to contain the raging inferno, lest it spread to the rest of the forest and destroy their homes. Needless to say, the Elvish race now appeared to hold a rather bitter grudge against me.

Yes, it was due to the fact that I could not control my magic. I was now considered to be a liability, an evil to be conquered. Indeed, the Lord and Lady had ordered me to a room near the dungeons, going so far as to post a guard in order to keep me there. I was left to my own devices. And with only loud, stern silence as my company, I fell back into my grief.

No one understood how very scared I had been, sitting all alone in my room – under lock and key. What was happening to me? The question echoed in my head, over and over, but I had no answer. For hours, I lay upon my bed, shaking and crying for my brother. My protector.

_Seth… Big brother, come back to me!_

I wanted to be saved, but there was no one there to save me. Again, I would have to save myself, and perhaps my brother, as well. That said, I'd been determined to begin searching for him. It was time to reunite with my better half. Yes, it was time to right the wrongs that had been done to us. Thus, I had decided to badger the Vala that had been assigned to deal with me – permanently, it seemed.

Upon further questioning, Oromë had assured me that Seth was actually roaming the vast lands of Middle Earth on horseback. The Vala had even been _kind_ enough to mention that Seth had adjusted well in this world and that my Twin had decided to follow a path similar to my own; he'd also procured a job among a large group of men. To be honest, I was stumped until I remembered that the Riders of Rohan were capable horsemen…and soldiers.

That said, I was horrified – and rightfully so! What if my Twin died in _this _war, too?

Not knowing the answers to this question, it had been decided – by me, myself, and I – that I would separate from the Fellowship and go on a journey of my own, to search for my brother. It would be better for all of us. After all, it would do them no good if I were to accidentally change the plot of the story. None of them would survive the war should that happen.

Of course, Aragorn – strong, demanding, overbearing Aragorn – had other ideas for me…

You got it. The crazy Ranger had decided that it would be best to keep an eye on me, so he had _graciously _allowed me to accompany the Fellowship on their quest of pain, grief, and (if I was lucky enough to live through the entirety of the story) triumph. Yay, for me! …not.

"Hey, Sammy…" Merry began, pausing to glance at Aragorn for permission. The older male nodded regally; permission granted. "Would you explain to me why it is that everyone seems to think you're so dangerous? I mean, you're a bit too small to be doing much damage."

Pippin leaned over the side of his boat and piped up, "And clumsy…" His cousin smacked him on the forehead at this rude aside, so he hastily added, "No offense!"

I snorted derisively at their words. "Why not ask the evil creature steering your boat?"

"Evil indeed," Aragorn muttered with an angry shake of his head. The paddle of the boat was thrust back into the water so suddenly that their boat shook with the force of it. "_…evil. Ha!_"

Ignoring him, I decided to explain the situation. "Apparently," I drawled lazily, "our dear friend, Aragorn, believes me to be a danger to anyone with the capability to anger me."

"Which is anyone and everyone," Boromir interrupted with a bark of laughter, smirking when I threw a loaf of lembas bread at his face. The irritating male only laughed even harder upon watching it soar over his head. _Fail!_

"And, on that note – would anyone care to explain to me why you all feel the need to treat me like a leper?" I demanded harshly, kicking at the water with one bare foot. Glared at a school of fish swimming by.

The Elf was the first to voice his opinion – "We do not know how to act around one such as yourself."

"Well, that wasn't cryptic at all, my dear Prince," I murmured sarcastically. "…idiot."

Legolas sniffed haughtily and quipped, "Perhaps you are the idiot for not understanding such basic wording. Stupid mortal."

_Stupid mortal. _My left eyebrow twitched spastically. _Mortal. Stupid, stupid mortal._

"I am not a lesser mortal!" I shrieked, practically falling out of the boat in my haste to verbally attack Legolas. My chest rose and fell as I panted heavily. Up and down, up and down. "Not a mortal. Took my own life and lived, didn't I?"

"I…never said that…" he slowly assured me, to which I merely froze in place.

Inhaling sharply, I realized with regret that it had been Oromë speaking to me again, whispering words into the depths of my mind. "I apologize, Prince Legolas. I thought that you... And he always talks to me, but… Never mind." Best to forget that I had ever slipped up.

Upon seeing my panicked expression, Aragorn pulled his boat closer to ours. Quietly, he asked, "So tell me: why did you take your life in such a manner, little one?" Silver flashed and I saw the sadness in his eyes.

"How did you…?" I began, stopping only when I saw the guilty expressions on their faces.

Aragorn cleared his throat, before roughly admitting that the entire Fellowship had witnessed the events in the mirror, seeing them clearly through my own eyes. Such a thing was an impossible feat, yet each and every one of them had seen and heard me in the Hall of Mandos as I conversed with one of their gods. I ran a hand over my face, knowing – without a doubt – that they had also shared my feelings in regards to the entire situation: my pain, my heartache…and my fear.

I stared up at the older males, wondering why they all appeared so undeniably comfortable with the fact that I was from another world. None of them appeared particularly surprised, only sad and a little uneasy. But I had not spoken with any of them about my place of origin, and it had not been discussed while I was 'visiting' with the Lord of the Forests.

_So how do they know…? _I pondered the mystery, but did not speak it aloud. It would get me nowhere to question the truth of their words. _There is something that this lot is refusing to tell me – I just know it!_

"Little one, must you sit in such a manner?" Aragorn inquired in an irritable manner. Gray eyes were faintly reproachful as he sternly continued, "It is indecent of you to do so."

I smirked, spreading my legs wider and giving him a clear view of what _should _have, in his opinion, been clad in a skirt, but was _actually_ clothed in a pair of dark skinny jeans instead. You see, it had recently been discovered that I could manifest objects should the need for such a thing be great enough; if I could properly channel my magic, that is, which was rare. As it were, I had wanted a pair of jeans – very badly – and they had magically appeared in my closet the following morning. Hence, I had gotten my way in the end.

No frilly dresses for the tomboy, thank you very much.

Tan cheeks flushed – be it with anger or embarrassment, I might never know. The Ranger clenched his jaw shut, tired face tightening as he returned his gaze to the length of the river still ahead of us. He scowled at it, ignoring the curious looks from his smaller companions, Frodo and Sam, both of whom now refused to have any contact with me; apparently, Aragon had mentioned that the two of them should keep a close eye on the Ring. Paranoid old man.

_Hell, I didn't even want to go on this quest in the first place! _Silently, I fumed. _I __**wanted **__to go find my __**brother,**__ dammit! _

My musings were interrupted suddenly (and quite rudely, I might add…) because Boromir had decided to chuck the loaf of lembas bread back at me to get my attention. It hit my forehead with a dull thud and then landed in my lap, to which I raised an amused eyebrow. My dear friend, Boromir, motioned to my relaxed posture with an angry expression. I just grinned and waved at him, mouthing the words: _I'm sexy and you know it._ The older male slapped a hand to his forehead, muttering to himself about my lack of modesty, and he too paddled faster in order to put his boat at a greater distance from ours.

Nothing more was said as their boats drifted farther and farther away from the one that I was in. Legolas was deliberately allowing his friends, specifically Aragon, the chance to distance themselves from us. From me.

It was going to be a long journey if this confrontation was anything to judge by. _Oh, well…_

Speaking of which, said Elf had chosen that opportune moment to lean forward and hiss, "Your foul mood is making him tense. Would you be so kind as to keep your temper in check, _milady?_"

I stared at him in disgust. "Has it not occurred to you that being _shunned _for a few days might have caused my mood to sour, Prince Long-legs?" At his blank expression, I darkly mumbled, "Of course not…"

Don't get me wrong. I knew that egging them on would more than likely end badly, but I felt as though I had been wronged by their entire company. Being a mean bitch was just my way of getting revenge. Of course, it would also end in a scolding, as it always did in response to my childish actions; however, that was nothing new. Now, who would do the honors _this _time – Boromir, or Aragorn?

To my surprise, it was neither of them. Instead…

"You need not be whiny, lass," Gimli growled as he pointed a stubby finger in my face. Shaking in anger. "We have all been very lenient, dealing with yer harsh words and inappropriate behavior. Now, it is time for ya to shut your mouth and do as yer told!"

I recoiled in shock, not having expected the friendly Dwarf to be the one to turn on me. Unexpectedly, I felt my blue eyes widen, clearly displaying the pain I was now feeling in my heart. Biting my lip in an effort to quell the urge to retort, I turned away and in the direction of the mountainous surroundings. My hands were clenched into fists as I focused on the steady beating of the river slapping against the boat like a pulse.

_He's right… I really am acting like a spoiled brat, aren't I? _A bitter smile stole across my lips like acid rain. _And Daddy raised me better than that. _

Oromë had been telling the truth: I was just a selfish child. Twenty years old, and I was acting out to get attention from a group of men charged with protecting and saving their world. Selfish. I was so very selfish. My brother didn't suffer from that bad habit. No… Seth had _given his life_ for his country. That…was selfless.

_God, why am I always such a bitch without my brother around to keep me in check? _

A ray of sunlight flitted through the trees and illuminated the pale skin of my face and neck. It shone brightly, glinting on the bit of metal peeking out from the collar of my tunic. Startled, I stared down at the necklace dangling from my neck; it had almost been forgotten. With my brother alive, my attention had been diverted from my most treasured keepsake and towards the hope that I would soon find its true owner.

The long, silver chain bore a small, stamped piece of aluminum, on which several words and numbers – a name, an identification number, a blood type, and the name of a religion. It had belonged to my brother, but had been returned to me upon the retrieval of his…corpse…from the cursed deserts of Iraq. The smell of death clung to the metal; however, I could not bring myself to part with it. It _was_ Seth.

Everything reminded me of my brother. _His name was Seth. _Yes, my dead brother. Because, if I was being honest with myself, I had no reason to believe the Lord of the Forests; my brother might still be dead, buried six feet under a bed of wilting roses. And without my brother, I was a loose cannon, loaded and ready to explode at even the smallest caress of a flame.

_Why cannot I be my own person? _

The sun vanished behind a cloud and the boats were cloaked in the cold embrace of darkness. I shivered at the feeling, thinking back to the hours preceding my death. Lightning, thunder… Rain as cold as ice in the midst of a harsh winter. I wanted to be warm and safe. I wanted someone to hold me tightly and protect me, so that I could return the favor.

Lifting my head, I found myself staring directly into the gray eyes of Aragorn. Under his stern gaze, I fidgeted and tugged at the hem of my tunic, flushing at being caught in the act. Staring was impolite, as well. The Ranger smiled slightly and shook his head in amusement at my antics, but as he focused on the clouds ahead, his expression darkened; he was doubting himself again.

Like the kiss of a lover, I felt a deep voice whisper in my ear. _And when Hope is lost, your song will save him. Remember these words, child, remember them. _I felt a nagging sensation in the corners of my mind, but it eluded my grasp. Hope… The name sounded so familiar. _Your song will save him. _Yes, I was forgetting something very important.

_I must find him. Save him… _I nodded my head in resolution. _I must sacrifice myself for him._

It was time for a change; I needed to live for someone else.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

...the writer's block didn't die. *Sob* And then the _final exams_ of my _last semester _at my technical college arrived!

God, I am so traumatized. *_* Today was the last day of exams - for me - but I won't know my grades until next week. *Sob, Sob, Sob*

Oh, well. At least I finally updated this story, right? :D Hope you guys like it. The next chapter will be up this weekend! Pinky promise! ;)

Anyway, **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! **(It would be nice to hit 35 reviews soon... ^^;)


	8. Chapter 7:  Hunted

~Chapter Seven~

Hunted

_Cause Everyone is Falling Away,  
>Feel Like They're Stolen From Me;<br>Wish Everything Didn't Happen to Me.  
>All I Want is Faith, Love, and Happiness.<em>

_I Know You Think You Know A Lot About Me,  
>But So Many Wanna Doubt Me.<em>

_Every Single Word I Say is Judged By A Million Critics._

_~Faith, Love, and Happiness,_ by Thousand Foot Krutch

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Like the kiss of a lover, I felt a deep voice whisper in my ear. <em>And when Hope is lost, your song will save him. Remember these words, child, remember them. <em>I felt a nagging sensation in the corners of my mind, but it eluded my grasp. Hope… The name sounded so familiar. _Your song will save him. _Yes, I was forgetting something very important.**

**_I must find him. Save him… _I nodded my head in resolution. _I must sacrifice myself for him._**

**It was time for a change; I needed to live for someone else.**

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><p>It was a rather lonely trip up the river. After my <em>small<em> bitch fit, the males of the company had placed me in a bit of a timeout; thus, I'd decided to be a good, quiet little girl and serve my time, as had been requested of me. To amuse myself, I experimented with my newfound magical abilities. There would be a time that required me to act with speed, precision, and determination; my life would depend on it. Because when the time came to fight, I had to be ready, and I could certainly _not _wield a weapon. Not without chopping my own head off at the neck. Nope, I was much too clumsy.

Of course, I might not be able to pick up a heavy sword, but I would certainly be capable of blasting through our enemies with a fireball or two! …as it was, I could not even light a piece of dry tinder. Shame on me.

The only real aspect of my supposed magical powers that I had been able to master in the last day or so of traveling was the ability to emulate music from the very pores in my skin; it appeared that music was the source of my magic – strange, but apparently quite effective against the evils of this world. Yep, I was going to put them all to sleep with a sweet lullaby.

_Makes me sound like Harry Potter. _I mused, lips twisting upwards in a silly grin as I thought back to another of my favorite books. _And his magic was rather amazing, wasn't it? It made anything seem possible…_

Indeed, Oromë had said that anything _was_ possible, as long as I had the capability to create. And upon thinking back to the stories, including the _Similarion_, I'd remembered one important tidbit of information: the Great Music composed by the Ainur had served as the blueprints for the creation of this world. Its entire history – past, present, and future – had already been determined via these few sheets of music. Middle Earth had been born of music, so to say that this was an important skill to master would be a bit of an understatement.

If I were to learn how to manipulate said music, I would then be able to alter the very fabric of reality. I would be able to change so many things and save the lives of so many good people – like Boromir, the Man that had chosen to stand protectively by my side despite my childish behavior. And the rest of the Fellowship might actually see me as more than a nuisance. Aragorn might also begin to treat me as a friend once more, should I actually learn to behave myself and contribute to the quest to destroy the Ring.

_I wish…_

And while I could easily remember _that_, I still could not recall what role my mysterious friend, Hope, played in this perilous tale. _Your song will save him. _Irritably, I slammed my head against the edge of the beautifully crafted boat – once, twice, and…

"Dammit, Gimli, let go of my hair! That actually _hurts_, you know!" I screeched loudly, tugging my head in the opposite direction in an effort to free my blonde ponytail from the grip of the strong Dwarf. Whining, as I demanded, "Lemme go!"

Brown eyes were filled with immense irritation as he amiably agreed, "Aye, lass. Just as soon as you promise me that ye'll stop trying to bash your brains in."

Of course, my darling Boromir felt the need to interrupt. He was quick to add his valuable input, snickering, "Who is to say that the crazy female has any manner of brains to lose at this point in time, Master Dwarf?"

While it had certainly been a nice gesture at the beginning of this mess, I was now ruing the day that the Gondorian had proclaimed himself to be my new guardian.

"Shut up, Boromir!" I snarled, my words dripping with poison. Warning him to keep any further thoughts to himself.

A soft snort was heard as the blonde male glanced in my direction, smirking lightly at my expense; he found me funny, huh? I peered over the edge of the boat and scowled at him, (loudly) cursing him to the Hall of Mandos, which – in my humble opinion – was quite a horrifying punishment indeed. After all, no one should have to suffer at the hands of the unpredictable, irresponsible Valar.

That said, Gimli did not appear to find me very threatening either because he merely roared with laughter at my words of anger and the sour expression on my face. Slapping at his stubby legs in mirth. Damn bastard! Two could play at that game – with a growl of epic proportions, I whirled around and yanked on his beard. I pulled the wiry strands of red hair like there was no tomorrow; Armageddon via angry, blonde female. Girl power!

Cackling with glee, I chose that moment to crow: "I am Sammy, hear me roar!"

"Not the beard, lass!" cried the Dwarf. Another yowl of pain. "Anythin' but the _beard!_"

I was about to respond with another witty remark or two, but I could not find it in my heart to do so, simply because my body had frozen in place as I fearfully surveyed the damp, shady canopy of the nearby forest: it was quiet. Blue eyes stared at the silent scenery with misgiving. Yes, it was much too quiet.

There was no wind whistling softly through the trees and the ancient oaks remained as still as statues, wooden eyes weary as they watched our slow progression down the river. _Too quiet._ There were no loud bird calls. _Much too quiet. _And there was definitely no sound, save for the silent screams of evil lurking in the depths of the vast forest._ Sweet silence._

Vaguely, I heard the voice of Aragorn angrily ordering me to release our shorter companion. I complied without a thought, too preoccupied with the state of the surrounding area to pay much attention to the infuriated Ranger. It appeared that the Man noticed my sudden uneasiness because he turned his steely gaze to the forest, as well.

"All will be well, little one," Aragorn murmured with a gentle smile. "We will protect you."

Unexpectedly, I felt my face flush at his softly spoken promise. Kind words…meant for _me. _It apparently paid highly for me to mind my tongue and act in a civilized manner. Stop laughing! Because _yes_ – as a matter of fact, I _had_ been behaving myself. No crude jokes, no inappropriate dancing, and (almost) no cursing. And now a sexy Ranger was offering me protection from the forces of evil.

Well, consider that my lesson learned!

I smiled gratefully at his words, thanking him for being so kind to me. To my surprise, Aragorn offered me a crooked grin and it took my breath away – literally. I found myself in awe at the sheer beauty of such a sweet expression adorning his regal face. In fact, I was at a loss. I was also blissfully unaware of the smug smirks now gracing the lips of the Elvish Prince, the Gondorian, and the Dwarf; the Hobbits merely watched the interaction with large, curious eyes.

"It probably won't mean very much to any of you, seeing as I am rather useless right now, but I promise to do my best to protect the rest of you, as well," I vowed, nodding solemnly to appear more official – a knight swearing an oath.

No one said anything. Instead, we all collectively stared ahead at the growing number of dark, gloomy clouds on the horizon; it would be nightfall soon. And with dusk fast approaching, the evil of this world would make its presence known. The Ring would call to its master. _War…_

"'tis quiet," Merry stated the obvious observation with grim conviction. "Reminds me of the time that filthy creature came stalking up the road on our way to Bree."

Pippin grimaced at the memory, muttering, "Scary things, those Nazgul." Edging closer to his cousin for comfort.

I wholeheartedly agreed with the smaller – but obviously older, more experienced – males. Hobbits were a cheerful, optimistic bunch; if they were afraid of the Nazgul, then it was a safe bet that the dark creatures were indeed rather frightening to behold in person. It appeared that my silent agreement had caught their attention because, as one, the Hobbits turned their attention to me, all demanding that I entertain them. How cute.

"What would you boys have me do – sing a song?" I queried with a weary sigh.

Like a flower, Frodo visibly perked up and murmured, "That would be nice, Sammy." A thoughtful expression crossed his face, as he mused, "A soft, sweet song, perhaps?"

Biting my lip in trepidation, I warned, "Frodo… I, um, don't think that's the best idea…"

"And why is that, my lady?" Boromir inquired with an innocent glow in his dark, gray eyes.

_Innocent, my ass! _I thought to myself, annoyed at the prospect of singing in front of a bunch of critical males. _What the hell should I sing to them: 'My Humps' by the Black Eyed Peas? God, I hate that song..._

"It is quite clear that the lady does not wish to harm our ears with her awful screeching," commented Legolas. Pale pink links were twisted upwards in a condescending smirk. "How very thoughtful of you, my lady."

Those cruel words prompted me into action – no one insults _my _singing – and I cheerfully said, "On second thought, I've just the song for you lot!"

Breathe in. Breathe out. _Remember your lessons. _Breathe in…and out…

I opened my mouth, and the music exploded from inside my fragile, mortal body like a butterfly escaping its chrysalis at the call of a new season. A new beginning. From my very soul the words were taken, as though it were destined to be. The soft melody reverberated in the air, whispering in the ears of those around me as I sang with fervor.

Yes, if there was one thing that I was good at, it was music. Singing and dancing. Becoming one with the notes, chords, and the tune of a song.

_Your song will save him._

"Days of burning sun... Watch the colors run, into pools that catch the eye. Disappear as you pass by," I sang sweetly, eyes closed against the fading light of the sun. "You're my summer rain." And repeat. "And I know that I'll see you again." Repeat.

A sharp intake of breath as Aragorn whispered, "By the Valar…"

I felt my chest swell with pride; this was my gift…my calling. I'd been born to sing. After all, Oromë himself had proclaimed it my destiny to sing about my one, true love – _and it is his love that shall fill your soul and from it, a song shall be born._ Music. It was something that I had wanted to share with them for quite some time. Oddly enough, I had only felt the need to share my music with one other being in my entire lifetime.

_His name was Seth._

Was I truly learning to open up and live for someone else? I hoped so, from the bottom of my lonely heart, I did.

"Hear my prayer, answer my call. Breathe life into my soul," I trilled, the words flowing from my lips like honey. "I am waiting for you to show… Come and hold me so!"

Warmth. Soft, secure warmth spread over my small form like a protective embrace, holding me tightly. _Seth…_ Glittering bits of blue light trickled down my pale, scarred skin as the music escaped the tiny pores on my arms, my hands, and my face. My soul. _War stole something from me. _I clung to the musical notes as they drifted by, visible to the naked eye of any within a thirty foot radius. _Your song will save him. _

Suddenly, it began to rain, a soft mist falling from the gray skies; the Gods were crying. Cool water fell upon warm skin and I lifted my face to taste it, savoring the feel of fresh water on my chapped lips. Summer rain…

It tasted like sunshine.

"Summer rain…"

Amidst the notes of soft singing, I heard a sound – _Thud. Thud. THUD. Thud. Thud. THUD._

I blanched, every ounce of color leaving my face as I shut my mouth with a snap. The song, the magic… Everything vanished as I scurried to the other end of the boat, squeaking in terror as I lunged for one of the spare cloaks. Whimpering quietly, I hid beneath the soft, green fabric, clutching at it with trembling hands. My heart was pounding steadily in my chest to the foreign beat of an enemy war drum.

_Thud. Thud. THUD. Thud. Thud. THUD._

"Make it go away," I whispered pathetically into the cloak, voice husky with raw emotion as I begged, "Please, just make it all go away! _Please…_"

A warm hand was quickly woven into my hair, slowly stroking through the sweaty locks – over and over. It soothed me greatly, but I was surprised to find that the elegant hand actually belonged to my nemesis, Legolas. His blue eyes were no longer filled with icy malice; rather, he stared at me with something akin to pity in his gaze.

"A young woman such as yourself should not have to suffer any more hardships," Legolas said sadly as he continued rowing the boat. "It is enough that you have already lost so much, and at such a young age."

Admittedly, it was then that I realized my first real mistake: I had been much too quick to judge those around me, including Legolas. In my haste to differentiate between friend and foe, I labeled the Elf as an enemy – an evil to be avoided; hated. I was wrong.

The regret must have been apparent in my demeanor because the ancient male smiled faintly, waving away my fears with a single, elegant hand. "It is nothing, child. I must admit that I judged you unfairly, as well. And while you are young and it is normal for you to make such mistakes, I am much, much older."

Amused, Gimli snorted quietly into his gloved hand. "_…as old as dirt itself._" To which I giggled.

Having heard our quiet aside, the Elf rolled his eyes, but calmly continued, "Clearly, I should know better and for that, I apologize, my lady."

My gaze shifted repeatedly from Legolas to Gimli and back again. The world was full of surprises, it seemed. Even members of the male species (yes, _species…_) could apologize. And I was just as guilty in this matter, so I decided to own up to my mistakes – I was a big girl, after all.

"I should apologize, too. I'm legally considered an adult in my world; thus, I am also at fault for being so rude," I explained to the pair with a sheepish expression. "I _am _sorry. For everything…"

At my insistence, the unlikely pair exchanged an unreadable look, communicating silently between themselves. Not arguing for once. Nonetheless, it appeared that I was forgiven. Until I fucked up _again,_ that is…

_Oh, well. Aragorn still loves me, right? _The thought was sarcastic, but it still caused my heart to race in my chest. _I hope… _Pausing, I slowly repeated: "…Hope?"

Aragorn turned to face me, confusion evident on his face. "What?"

Blinking at the older male, I hesitantly responded, "Never mind." _Can he read my mind or something?_

Legolas stopped in his tracks, the boat drifting to a slow stop as he surveyed the edge of the forest. It appeared that he was now just as wary as I – the Orcs were drawing nearer. In the distance, we heard the sounds of battle cries, war drums, and the pounding of feet hitting the earthen floor of the ancient forest. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Aragorn motioning to the edge of the river, clearly wanting to bring our boats ashore. The time had come for us to travel forth on foot for one reason, and one reason only: we were being hunted.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**Da-da-da-DUM!**

You finally get to see a bit of her **magic**, which - in the end - will only be used to **save people**; it will not suddenly rain fire down upon the enemy and end the war by the hand of one small, moronic girl. XD Nope, she will merely aid the leading figures in the storyline. So, no worries.

Also, I know it's a bit cliched, but I wanted to include the song (_Summer Rain _by Hayeley Westenra) because it is a reflection of her past, her personality, and her magic. It does alter the fabric of reality - do any of YOU remember it raining during that scene? ;)

**And, this may seem kinda desperate - but READ and REVIEW!** I honestly don't know if this story is any good because I haven't gotten much feedback, like I have with my other stories. **Let me know if I should continue, alright?**

**Thanks again, my wonderful readers! :D**

P.S. I love the bold button. Can you tell?


	9. Chapter 8:  In the Shadows

~Chapter Eight~

In the Shadows

_I Remember a Year Ago, I was Standing in the Crowd,  
>Waiting for the Chance to Break Through…<br>My Chance to Live Again._

_Now It Seems I've Found Some Friends Who Finally Understand  
>What It Takes to Make This Dream Come True.<br>We'll Be Here Till the End._

_This Night Will Never End…_

_~In Fate's Hand,_ by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Legolas stopped in his tracks, the boat drifting to a slow stop as he surveyed the edge of the forest. It appeared that he was now just as wary as I – the Orcs were drawing nearer. In the distance, we heard the sounds of battle cries, war drums, and the pounding of feet hitting the earthen floor of the ancient forest. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Aragorn motioning to the edge of the river, clearly wanting to bring our boats ashore. The time had come for us to travel forth on foot for one reason, and one reason only: we were being hunted.<strong>

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><p>Night came quickly, and with it…the darkness. The burning light of the sun had vanished because it had chosen to hide in the shadow of the mountain, much as I wished to hide, continually, beneath the safety of my own cloak. Everything was shrouded in the shadows of twilight, including the faces of the Fellowship; however, the latter might have been induced by the worry that now sat in the pits of our stomachs like stones. The close encounter with the band of Uruk-hai had set us all on edge. Collectively, we all understood the enormous risk that we had taken when volunteering to escort Frodo – and his talking bling of doom – straight into the depths of Mordor.<p>

Some of us more so than others, considering the fact that Aragorn basically dragged me (kicking and screaming and cursing) into the boats… But, I digress.

"…it's cold," Pippin muttered petulantly. The young Hobbit pouted when no one paid him any attention. "Ahem. I said, 'It's _cold!_'"

After a tense moment, Aragorn sighed and finally admitted, "Indeed, it is, Pippin. But I'm afraid that there are no extra cloaks at the moment…" He kicked a nearby stick. "It is safe enough to build a fire, however, so we will solve that problem within the hour."

The Ranger tapped my guardian, Boromir, on the shoulder, indicating that the two should travel further down the riverbank to collect a few armfuls of dry tinder. Boromir nodded his consent and made to follow the older Man, but he stopped near an old tree and turned around one last time, hesitating. Warm, gray eyes met my own and I knew that he was wary of leaving me to my own devices. I offered him a small wave, indicating that I would be fine. No mischief making – for now, that is.

Boromir smiled at my mimed gestures, taking his leave with an amused shake of his head, blonde hair blowing gently in the cold breeze. A second later and my only friend slipped away into the darkness. I watched him go with a heavy heart, fearing that he would not return. He would be yet another face hidden beneath six feet of dirt and a bed of wilting roses. It was entirely possible. After all, we _were_ at war.

_War…_

Two years ago, when my brother had first enlisted in the army, I did not consider the fact that it would be the last time I saw him in the flesh. Never considered that he might die; gone, like a gust of autumn wind. Of course, I was well aware that our troops were dying – daily – to protect our country. But it had never once crossed my mind that my Twin, my light, my sun….would die.

_War stole something from me…_

I understood the meaning of the word – war was commonly defined as a hostile situation, in which two opposing forces fought for a certain end, often one that would change the course of history. But it had never affected me personally. Instead, the word 'war' stayed confined to the pages of my textbooks, the stories in my novels, and the headlines of the local newspaper; all were in black and white. And, in another sense, war was simply good versus evil. There was life, and there was death.

I had learned that the hard way.

"Merry, I'm _cold_…" Pippin reiterated, for perhaps the twentieth time in the last half hour.

Through gritted teeth, his cousin said, "I understand that, Pip, but so are the rest of us. What you would you have me do – wave a magic wand and summon us a few pints of warm ale?"

Ah, the sarcasm of a cranky Hobbit, it was like pouring salt on an open wound. Not fun at all. Cannibalism was not a common practice among the people of Middle Earth, but there was a first time for everything. Thus, it would be best for me to do something about their bickering before the two decided to eat each other for supper. One should not have dessert before dinner, you know!

That aside, Aragorn might not take to well to the fact that I'd let our mutual friends partake in the ritualistic consumption of human (er, Hobbit) flesh. Probably not the best way to get on his good side…

"Merry, Pippin…" I called softly, raising my blue eyes to search the nearby shadows for the miserable Hobbits. "Where are the two of you hiding?"

There was a quiet murmur, followed by the sound of rustling, and then the two small males came trampling through the underbrush. One after another, Merry and Pippin cautiously made their way over to my designated area, which Boromir had ordered me to shortly after we had made camp. Indignantly, I had informed the blonde Gondorian that I would choose my own spot; however, Aragorn had stopped me in my tracks, ordering me to the same patch of grass. After all, I would be unable to cause any trouble if two, large, incredibly strong males were sleeping on either side of me, just inches away from my own sleeping roll.

That, and Aragorn practically had to pry my hands away from his worn, black cloak, which I had clung to with abandon from the moment that we'd left the boats. I was not afraid of the dark. Nope. Not me! I was merely afraid of the _creatures_ using the cloak of darkness to travel across the vast lands of Middle Earth – namely, Orcs and the Uruk-hai.

And spiders. I hated spiders with a passion. And I blamed Seth for _that _particular phobia.

Even so, Aragorn understood that I was afraid, and the reasons for that fear. This world was largely unknown to me. And while the Ranger had pointed out that the most important aspect of his duties was to protect the ringbearer, Frodo Baggins, he had agreed to keep an eye on me when possible.

_All will be well, little one. _His words echoed in my head, over and over, like a sweet lullaby. _We will protect you._

Oddly enough, he had also convinced Legolas to begin teaching me in the way of the bow and arrow, which had begun earlier in the evening, shortly after we had brought the boats ashore. I'd wondered why the blonde Elf was so quick to agree to his terms, before I remembered that the Fellowship was still wary of leaving me to defend myself against our enemies with my limited knowledge of magic, despite the fact that my control was slowly improving. By the way, the keyword in that sentence was _slowly_.

"What is it that you need, Sammy?" Merry asked in a weary tone of voice. It was clear that watching after his cousins had taken a toll on the older Hobbit; he was exhausted – both physically _and _mentally.

I patted the grass on either side of my hips and motioned for them to sit beside me. They did so, albeit warily, and only after exchanging wary glances. Ouch. It appeared that neither of them truly trusted me after the incident in the forest – too much fire for their tastes. Nonetheless, the pair seated themselves and waited patiently for me to speak.

"I was wondering if the two of you would like to borrow my cloak for tonight. It should be big enough for the two of you to share," I explained. At their startled expressions, I smiled and gently added, "It _is_ cold."

Pippin was the first to respond. "But… What about you, Sammy?" he inquired, clutching at the hem of his cloak like a child and yawning widely. "Won't you be cold, too?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Nope. I grew up in the cold, northern plains of my country. There are several mountain ranges, annual snowstorms, and long winters in that area." Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes, and wistfully thought of home. "I was born and bred to survive this type of weather."

Quietly, Merry murmured, "Then we will kindly take you up on your offer – if you don't mind, that is…" His pale, green eyes gazed longingly at the warm cloak sitting, unused, in my lap.

"Not at all, my good man!" I chirped cheerfully, before flapping the cloak open and handing it to them.

The pair stared at me, obviously surprised that I had willingly handed it over, no strings attached. Over the course of the last month, the members of the Fellowship had learned that I loved to pull pranks. Now, the group of males thought twice before incurring my wrath – even the Hobbits were wary of me, if not a little paranoid. Of course, that did not often apply to Merry and Pippin, as they both participated in the majority of my mischief, much to the chagrin of Aragorn and Legolas. They were our prime targets.

"That was kind of you, little one. Surprisingly so, might I add…"

I scowled at that observation and retorted, "I'm not _always_ a bitch, Aragorn." He winced at my choice of words, but I ignored him. "I simply have a tendency to instigate fights and pull pranks. It's in my nature to be mischievous."

Aragorn smiled faintly. "So it would seem. Although, you have calmed down quite a bit since your arrival in Lothlórien," he mused with a thoughtful quirk of the brow.

"It might surprise you, but I've always been the quieter twin," I declared, huffing indignantly at his skepticism. "Really! I'm the shy one!"

"Yes, of course," he murmured with a pained expression on his regal face. "Although, I fear that your brother must be a true terror, if you are indeed less troublesome…"

"Actually, my brother is like the sun – loud, bright, and always the center of attention. In his words, I am the moon, a mere shadow of his presence," I chuckled, staring up at the sky and searching for my namesake. It was shining brightly among a sprinkling of tiny stars.

"Had you told me this a week ago, I would not have believed you," Aragorn said with a small laugh. "Now, however, I find myself glad that we misjudged you." The crooked smile quickly morphed to an amused smirk as he added, "Although, you are still quite immature, my lady."

"Thank you so _very_ much for your kind, thoughtful words, Aragorn," I muttered darkly under my breath. "Honestly, I love you, too."

Startled, the Ranger turned to stare down at me with wide, gray eyes, before asking, "…I beg your pardon?"

With a laugh, I quickly explained the meaning behind the phrase, lest he suddenly begin to worry about my growing affections for him. That was one thing that the older male need not think of yet; he had enough to worry about at this particular moment in time. That, and there was his love for Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond. She was tall, strong, and beautiful – the perfect candidate to wed the future King of Gondor.

As it was, I really did care for Aragorn, and more so than I probably should have, all things considered. Yes, the short and chubby, blonde female with an attitude problem and a lack of common sense had a crush on the tall, sexy Ranger. A man that was approximately four times her age, as well… Stupidity, thy name is Sammy.

"You speak consistently of your older brother, but I have not heard much in regards to the rest of your family. Do you not get along with them?" Aragorn inquired curiously as he went about tidying the pile of sticks and building a small, but incredibly warm fire.

Pausing, I thought of how best to explain my situation. "Growing up, I lived only with my father and my twin brother. And while I respected my father, I had no love for him because…" I shook my head and said, "Seth, on the other hand, was my other half. My _better _half."

If he found that explanation strange, he said nothing of it. Instead, he finished tending the fire, leaving its warmth to the Hobbits, all of whom were _starving, famished, _and _dying of hunger_. The four males immediately set about preparing a late supper, focusing on filling their empty bellies with all haste. I eyed the food with interest and my stomach growled at the smoky smell of salted bacon; it appeared that I was rather hungry, as well. Oh, and look! It's _not_ lembas bread tonight… Finally!

"And your mother?"

"She died in childbirth," I said softly, raising my eyes to meet his with a small, sad smile for the woman that I had never met. "Bearing two children at once… It was too much for her frail body to handle."

"'tis a pity that she was not given the chance to meet you in person, little one. In fact, I do believe that she would have been quite proud of you," Aragorn insisted after catching sight of my doubtful expression.

And, to my surprise, Aragorn reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of my hair behind one my pierced ears. Yes, I wore three, silver earrings in each ear; the Fellowship had given me quite a bit of grief over that little discovery, so it might behoove me to keep my bellybutton piercing a secret. Even so, his fingers lingered on the small pieces of jewelry, trailing over them and causing a shiver to crawl its way up my spine.

I felt my eyes widen in accordance as I stared up at him with something akin to awe stirring in the depths of my soul. Evenly, Aragorn gazed down at me, surveying my reddened face with interest. My heart was hammering in my chest, almost as if I'd been running for miles without any reprieve. Not tired, but out of breath. Excited.

What was this feeling?

_I wish…_ My mind thought back to the wish that had started this entire mess. _I wish for a reason to…_

With a huff, Boromir suddenly seated himself on the cold, stiff blankets to my left. A pair of stormy, gray eyes flickered in his direction, instantly clashing with a pair of steely, dark gray eyes. The former belonged to the future King of Gondor; the latter, to my guardian. As of this moment, neither appeared very happy with the other. And I was seated between them, directly in the line of fire. Joy.

I thought back to the scene that I'd apparently missed, which involved the discovery of Gollum. My friend, Boromir, had demanded – once again – that the Ring be brought to Gondor. Aragorn, however, was not going to comply. If I remembered correctly, he refused to even bring the tiny, golden trinket within 'a hundred leagues' of the White City. Now, I'm not a mathematical genius by any means, but I do believe that to be quite a distance away from the desired target…

Meanwhile, the two males were now glaring at each other over the top of my head, preparing to fight to the death, and –

"Is dinner ready yet?" I asked hopefully, eyeing the steaming plate of food that had just passed from Sam to Frodo.

In response, Sam smiled and offered me an empty plate. I smiled in return, thanking him for making dinner yet again, and quickly filled the plate with bacon, mushrooms, and lembas bread. _Dammit, I __**knew **__that damn bread was going to make an appearance…!_ Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Aragorn and Boromir were now ignoring each other in favor of filling their own plates. _Men… There are only two things that they think about – sex, and food._

And, just like that, I was back in my senior year of high school. Eating lunch with Seth and laughing at the perverted joke that he had just told me on the way to the bleachers. As a matter of fact, I was now laughing hysterically at what appeared to be absolutely _nothing _and the members of the Fellowship were now staring at me as though I had completely lost my marbles; it was quite possible, too.

"…er, is something particularly funny about the food, lass?" Gimli asked, before warily poking at his own share of bacon. He sniffed it. "Seems to be alright…"

I coughed. "Sorry. I just remembered a joke that my brother once told me about men. It, uh, amused me." Sheepishly, I hid my flushed face in the sleeve of my tunic and muttered, "My bad."

Gimli now appeared rather interested. His smile was positively devious as he urged, "Well, get on with it, lass! Tell us the joke!"

"Uh…" I bit my lip, before timidly warning, "It's probably going to offend you lot."

Smirking at this _obvious _statement, Boromir pointed out, "Indeed, that happens every time that you care to open your mouth, Samantha. And that is quite often." Gray eyes glittered with amusement as I angrily punched him in the upper arm; he did not even flinch.

"Fine!" I snapped in irritation. "You wanna hear the damn joke? Whatever! But you crazy, sexist boneheads better _not_ chastise me for reciting it!"

"You have our word, milady," Boromir assured me with a mock bow.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, and blurted, "Men only have two emotions: hungry and horny. So, if you see a guy without an erection, you should make him something to eat!"

Every, single one of the Fellowship – all eight of them – mechanically turned to stare at me, almost as though I were from another planet. This was true, of course, but…

Gimli snorted into his drink, trying to cover the sounds of his laughter, but to no avail. In fact, he was now howling at the sky, much like a wolf might on the night of a full moon. His nemesis, however, had a rather blank expression on his face. It was as though someone had suddenly wiped every emotion from his perfectly angelic face, save for the twitching of one, blonde eyebrow. Both Aragorn and Boromir were blushing faintly and neither one would look me in the eye. Nonetheless, they still appeared to find the joke rather amusing – if their smirks were anything to judge by, that is.

And the Hobbits, you ask?

"…did you understand any of that, Mister Frodo?" Sam murmured with a small, puzzled frown.

Frodo shook his head in the negative. "Not a word, my dear Sam."

The two turned to Merry and Pippin, neither of whom had any idea. On the contrary, they were utterly clueless, and too busy stuffing their faces to care at the moment. Ah, Hobbits – so sweet and innocent… It warmed my dark, evil heart to see the little creatures and their adorable eating habits. Turning to Gimli, I offered him my four remaining pieces of bacon, as I had now lost my appetite.

Sam focused on his friend, frown deepening as he urged, "Please, have some more food, Mister Frodo." He continued shuffling about the campfire, fixing the other male a plate of food; it was practically overflowing.

"No, thank you. I don't really want any, Sam," Frodo murmured softly. Blue eyes focused on the water and the small male sighed, clearly uneasy with the situation at hand.

"But you haven't eaten anythin' all day, and I know that you're not sleepin' either…" he loudly protested. "Don't think that I haven't noticed!" An aggravated sigh, and then – "Mister Frodo…"

The Ringbearer was quick to interrupt, whirling towards his friend and harshly declaring, "I'm alright!" Nothing more was said for a moment as he focused on the chain hidden into the folds of his shirt.

"But you're not," wailed Sam. The gardener crouched down beside his friend, insisting, "And I _am _here to help you, you know! Indeed, I promised Gandalf that I would look after you!"

A small, delicate face was lifted into the air and the unlikely pair stared at the other for a moment, each silently observing his companion – icy, haunted eyes were focused upon a pair of warm, brown ones. Friends… So alike, yet so very different.

"You cannot help me, Sam – not this time," Frodo said, sighing once more as he returned his gaze to the cold, unforgiving river. Mercy was unlikely. "Get some sleep, my friend."

That appeared to serve as some secret cue because the entirety of the Fellowship began cleaning up after themselves and moving towards the designated sleeping area. With a small yawn, I sat up and stretched, rubbing my full belly with a satisfied smile. And just as I was about to stand and return my plate to the fire, a large, gloved hand removed it from my lap.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Aragorn whispered in my ear, "for you will surely need the rest."

Blinking stupidly at his words, and his use of my actual name, I nodded in agreement. "Okay, if you insist. Thank you…"

After he'd left and headed for the campfire, I moved towards my sleeping roll, intent upon falling fast asleep. But the moment that I was settled on the thin cloth, I found that I could not sleep, and my mind spiraled into despair. If I were correct, a few things had happened out of order tonight. The conversation between the Hobbits was _supposed _to occur while Aragorn and Boromir were fighting over the current destination of the Ring. And it was _supposed_ to occur quite a distance away from our campsite, yet a few of their words had been exchanged in our presence; a small change, but an important one.

It was a sign, perhaps, from the Valar. I _was_ destined to change the fate of this world – for better, or for worse. This was just the beginning of a newly discovered Middle Earth. Yes, if I was given the chance, I _would_ change the fate of this world and its people. My people now… I would save as many of their lives as humanly possible, including one now most precious to me. In fact, he was currently rivaling my brother in affections; it was hard to say if I would one day love them equally. But I would never get the chance to find out, should I not succeed in my endeavors.

After all, Boromir was fated to die, and soon.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Hey, everybody! I updated - and rather quickly, at that! Hooray~! :)

Um, I had every intention to have this up earlier, but my computer decided to get a really bad, nasty virus. I had to scramble to save both my computer, and my precious files. My stories were on the line! XD So, here it is...

Anyway, I hope that everyone has a happy holiday, be it Christmas or whatever else you choose to celebrate. Or if you choose not to celebrate at all. ;)

P.S. If you guys review, which would be really nice, please feel free to tell me what you think the ending to "I wish..." is when she repeatedly thinks it. Maybe one of you will get it! :)


	10. Chapter 9:  Innocence and Corruption

~Chapter Nine~

Of Innocence and Corruption

_Sometimes, I'm a Selfish Fake.  
>You're Always a True Friend.<br>I Don't Deserve You,  
>'Cause I'm Not There for You.<br>Please Forgive Me Again._

_I Wanna Be There for You,  
>Someone You Can Come To.<em>

_Speak the Unspeakable Phrase,  
>"I Love You, Too."<em>

_~There For You,_ by Flyleaf

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>It was a sign, perhaps, from the Valar. I <em>was<em> destined to change the fate of this world – for better, or for worse. This was just the beginning of a newly discovered Middle Earth. Yes, if I was given the chance, I _would_ change the fate of this world and its people. My people now… I would save as many of their lives as humanly possible, including one now most precious to me. In fact, he was currently rivaling my brother in affections; it was hard to say if I would one day love them equally. But I would never get the chance to find out, should I not succeed in my endeavors.**

**After all, Boromir was fated to die, and soon.**

* * *

><p>I awoke early that morning, well before dawn. As such, it should have been rather cold – freezing even – but the first thought in my mind was only of how incredibly warm I was at the time. It felt as though I had been enveloped in a warm embrace; however, I knew that to be impossible. No one would dare touch me in my sleep because I was an unmarried female in a time period that valued societal ethics – it was not proper to embrace me. Hence, there had to be another reason for my sudden, inexplicable feeling of warmth, and the corresponding feeling of safety.<p>

My mind slowly drifted into consciousness. Thoughts of my brother came to mind, mainly due to the fact that we used to sleep in together in the same bed, well into our late teenage years. Sleeping next to another person was always so much more comfortable than sleeping alone in a cold, empty bed. But it was still considered strange, even in our more accepting era and country. Many of the employees on our ranch suspected that there was more to our relationship than the simple affections between a brother and sister – we were too close, too loving, and too weird for their tastes. The whispers spoke of incest. Or, in our case: _twincest._

Even our father began to agree with the staff. He'd never approved of us, if only because we had stolen the love of his life. Our mother died in childbirth and _we _were to blame. In his mind, we killed our mother – his wife. That man never considered the fact that we would have loved to have a mother, someone to care for us and raise us as her own.

No… It never crossed him mind. Not even once.

Instead, we were given a father that tried his best to avoid us. With our blonde hair and mischievous natures, we reminded him solely of his wife, and it dredged up painful memories. Our mere presence was a hindrance. And so we left, if only to save ourselves the heartache of being disowned by our only remaining family member.

Up until that point, we'd had each other, so we were happy. No one else mattered. But that changed the day that Seth joined the American military. A month after our eighteenth birthday, he signed his paperwork and joined the army, traveling several states away to participate in the mandatory training at boot camp. Shortly after that, he was deployed to the deserts of Iraq. I had no wish to serve our country; rather, I wished to better myself with a higher education. I liked learning. So at the beginning of the fall semester, I was enrolled in a prestigious university several hundred miles away, learning the fundamentals of singing and dancing.

Yes, I was far, far away from home, and far, far away from my precious Twin. Even now, we were separated.

"Little one, you must release your grasp on my cloak." There was a pause, and then the man softly continued, "However, I almost wish that we did not have to leave, as it is rather nice to hold you so close…"

"Be quiet, Seth," I muttered into his shirt, snuggling closer into a pair of strong, muscled arms as I grumpily added, "Some of us are trying to get a bit of sleep, you dumbass."

A gentle hand stroked my sweaty hair away from my face, before moving to my right shoulder and lightly shaking me awake. With a muffled protest, I obediently released his warm shirt and sat up. I stretched, popping the kinks out of my aching back, and opened my mouth in a wide yawn. After blinking a few times to clear my vision, I groggily turned to the right, searching for my brother. And I found –

"…Aragorn?"

The Ranger smiled at me, laughing shortly at my stunned expression. "I take it that you believed me to be someone else?"

My blue eyes were wide with shock. "I, uh, thought you were my b-b-brother. Sorry a-about that, Aragorn!" I stuttered, practically spitting the words out as I scrambled to put a greater distance between the two of us.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at this reaction, curiously asking, "What are you so embarrassed about, little one? We merely slept in the same vicinity. And surely someone of your world would not mind the close contact."

_He did __**not**__ just imply that! That…that… How dare he? _

Jumping to my feet, I viciously snarled, "Just because I come from a country that is rather open about sex does _not _mean that I'm used to sleeping next to guys, okay?" I primly lifted my nose in the air. "In fact, that was the first time I've ever slept around anyone other than my brother! So excuse me for…being…frightened….and…"

I trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid as I realized just how much I'd revealed in that tirade. Oh, dear God, kill me now! I was utterly mortified. Essentially, I had just admitted to still being pure. No one, male or female, had ever touched me in a sexual manner. I was innocent. A virgin… And I'd just said _that_ to a _man_, one that I found myself attracted to – mentally, emotionally, and _sexually. _

Clearly, Aragorn was at a loss for words. He remained on his sleeping roll, merely staring at me with wide, gray eyes and a dumbfounded expression on his face. If he were any less of a gentleman, I'm quite sure that he would be laughing at me right now, as the entire situation was probably rather humorous to a man of his years and experience.

_Experience…_ My face flushed as I thought of his hands tangled in my hair, or resting on my hips. _Experience… _ Passionate kisses on my lips, and neck, and chest. _Experience… _Fingers slipping beneath my panties and –

"I have to go!" I blurted suddenly, before promptly darting through the trees and in the general direction of the boats – or what I hoped to be the direction of the boats. "Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit…"

_I am such a moron!_ Inwardly, I was wailing in horror. _Stupid, stupid Sammy! God, you are such a fucking __**idiot! **_

Even as I neared the boats, I continued to mentally berate myself for being such a stupid, immature female. Hell, I really _was _stupid and immature! I had been given another chance at life so that I could save lives and help change the fate of Middle Earth. I had _not _been given another chance at life so that I could try my hand at flirting and falling in love with the future King of Gondor. Somehow, I did not believe that to be a necessary part of fighting for the greater good. Oromë was going to kill me. Again.

Legolas raised a single, delicate eyebrow as I clambered into our boat. "And where is the fire, my lady?"

I said nothing, too embarrassed to form the words needed to excuse my reaction. How was I to explain away the terrified expression on my face, or my lack of response? Was it possible for me to use my powers to travel back in time to save myself from my stupidity? No, it was impossible. If I were capable of such things, then I could simply travel back to the era in which the Ring had been created and kill the idiot that had forged it. But I couldn't do that, so how the hell was I going to survive another encounter with the evil Ranger? Ugh!

Perfect teeth glinted in the sunlight as Legolas smirked and mused, "You refuse to answer, so you must be to blame once again. Honestly, what have the trees ever done to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, you homosexual fairy!" I finally shrieked, before diving under the same cloak that I had hidden beneath the day before. _Sanctuary…!_

The Elf, oddly enough, chose to remain silent. Either he mysteriously understood that I had somehow managed to embarrass myself within an inch of my miserable life, or he was suitably enraged at my cruel words. Needless to say, nothing more was said until Gimli climbed into the boat and motioned for us to continue on our way with all due haste.

"What is wrong with ye this time, lass?" Gimli demanded angrily. Silver glinted and I knew he was sharpening his axe again; hopefully, he would put me out of my misery. "There are no Orcs nearby to speak of, it is not dark, and we are well on our way to destroying the Ring! What is there to be afraid of, eh?"

It was Aragorn that responded. "Our young friend is a little embarrassed at the moment. You will not likely see her for another hour or so, as she currently refuses to have anything to do with me."

Legolas heard the chipper amusement in his voice and turned to face his companion, eagerly asking, "How did the silly girl manage to embarrass herself _this _time, my friend?"

That certainly caught my attention, but I remained hidden under the cloak. "Please, Aragorn, don't tell him! If you do, I'll never hear the end of it!" I pleaded with a small, desperate whine.

Forget maturity – I wanted to live, dammit! And if he told the Elf, I would surely die of embarrassment. Straight back to the Hall of Mandos, we go!

The Ranger chuckled lightly, assuring me that he would never betray me in such a manner. I felt the need to ask him if that meant he would betray me in _another _manner; however, I did not wish to offend him with my sarcasm, considering the fact that he had just promised to keep the current state of my virginity – in other words, intact – a secret from the rest of the Fellowship. Thank God for small miracles.

"Frodo…" Aragorn whispered urgently, tapping the Hobbit on the shoulder with a few fingers and motioning ahead.

A few more whispered words were exchanged and I realized that they were speaking of the two, gigantic statues that were braced against the mouth of the mountain. Each was approximately thirty stories high, perhaps more, and stood tall against the elements. Vaguely, I registered the fact that Aragorn now claimed them to have been made to honor the kings of old; these two men were his kin. It made me wonder if Aragorn would one day have a statue made in his honor, as well. If all went well with this war, he would certainly deserve it. Trials and tribulations indeed!

As I listened to his deep, husky voice, I drifted off to sleep, dozing fitfully under the heat of the sun and the upcoming threat of war on the horizon. Dreams of blood, and pain, and death… Losing my friends to the void of the afterlife. Indeed, that was now my worst nightmare. It made my heart ache to think of any of these brave individuals falling prey to the cold, relentless grip of Death. None of them deserved to be hurt, or killed.

I wanted all of them to live long, happy lives, but that was seemingly impossible...

A short while later, the wooden boats came to a halt as they were directed to the rocky shores of yet another dense patch of forest. I awoke to the sound of water rushing in my ears. Slowly, I raised my head and curiously gazed at the large amounts of water pouring over the edge of the mountain and into unknown territory, far below my line of sight.

_Oh, a waterfall… That must mean that we've arrived at our next stop. _

My eyes shot to Boromir, only to find the Man sitting in his boat, hands on his knees as he inhaled sharply. His pupils were dilated – be it with fear or anger, I did not yet know. He was acting strangely, so I _was _now aware of the fact that we were nearing the fated hour, in which I would endure my very first trial. Saving my guardian would be a difficult task, especially if I was to be avoiding the Uruk-hai at the same time; however, it would be worth it.

I would risk my life to save my friend, even if I did have to suffer through the pain of death once more.

I stood up carefully, trying not to fall out of the boat as I gathered my traveling bag – it contained only the necessities; no hairbrush or books (sadly) – and a sleeping roll into my arms. After a moment, I focused on the voices of the Hobbits, my eyes following them to the fire that was already being built. It would distract them momentarily. Eagerly, I scurried over to the river, intent upon washing the dirt from my face and hands while no one else was watching. Forget washing – I obviously meant _scrubbing,_ as my luck would have it. There was too…much…dirt!

"We shall travel only during nightfall, after hiding the boats and continuing on foot," Aragorn suddenly declared, directing his gaze to the smallest of our company. Gray eyes lingered on the Ringbearer, and he grimly murmured, "We approach Mordor from the north…"

Gimli had been paying rapt attention to the new leader of the group, but he immediately disagreed with the chosen route to our destination; it was not to his liking. The Dwarf stood to his full height, which was not very intimidating, and stepped closer, ranting about the dangers of the rocks and the stench of the marshlands. Pippin was appropriately scarred for life, especially after Aragorn calmly stated that the previously mentioned landmarks were on our road to Mordor.

Amidst the grumbling, Legolas approached his friend and desperately whispered, "We should leave." A twitch in his jaw signified his worry. "Now."

As expected, Aragorn disagreed with this suggestion, muttering that many Orcs patrolled the eastern shores. It would not be easy to travel with them on our tails, nor would it be very safe. A hasty decision could very well mean the end of our journey…and our lives.

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me, my friend," Legolas admitted to the other male, running a finger over his daggers in anticipation. "Not in the least."

Yes, Legolas was already aware of the Orcs on the eastern shore, so he turned away and gazed warily at the forest. The eastern shore was not his primary concern; rather, the Elf feared that something dangerous was approaching our current location from another direction. And soon.

_War…_

Merry returned with another armful of firewood and, after depositing it on the ground, turned to us and warily asked, "…where is Frodo?"

A pair of stormy, gray eyes widened and immediately darted over the entirety of the campsite. They lingered on the forgotten shield lying in a corner of the ruins, a foreign emotion welling in their depths: despair. And while I hated the fact that his accusations had led him straight to the culprit, I also knew them to be true. Boromir was no longer himself.

_War will not steal something from me again. _

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Well, I have updated once again! You should all bow down before my awesome self! ...or something like that. ;)

Anyway, please enjoy the story. And **READ **and** REVIEW!** Please, please, please - with a cherry on top.

P.S. You guys have two questions to answer for me, if you review:

1) What was her wish? Finish the sentence, "I wish..."

2) Should Sammy save Boromir, or should he die? This will be determined based upon your responses.

...would it be cruel of me to say that I wasn't updating until I get 45 reviews? XD


	11. Chapter 10:  Like Sand in an Hourglass

~Chapter Ten~

Like Sand in an Hourglass

_I Don't Want to Be the One  
>The Battles Always Choose,<br>'Cause Inside, I Realize  
>That I'm the One Confused.<em>

_I Don't Know What's Worth Fighting For,  
>Or Why I Have to Scream.<br>I Don't Know Why I Instigate  
>And Say What I Don't Mean.<br>I Don't Know How I Got This Way._

_So I'm Breaking the Habit.  
>I'm Breaking the Habit…<br>Tonight._

_~Breaking the Habit,_ by Linkin Park

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Merry returned with another armful of firewood and, after depositing it on the ground, turned to us and warily asked, "…where is Frodo?"<strong>

**A pair of stormy, gray eyes widened and immediately darted over the entirety of the campsite. They lingered on the forgotten shield lying in a corner of the ruins, a foreign emotion welling in their depths: despair. And while I hated the fact that his accusations had led him straight to the culprit, I also knew them to be true. Boromir was no longer himself.**

_**War will not steal something from me again.** _

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><p>I raced through the forest, my feet moving at speeds that I had previously thought them incapable of achieving. Blissfully, I was unaware of the sounds that indicated the approaching enemy. Their war drums could be heard in the distance, but the thudding of the instruments was in time with the beating of my own heart. The small organ was slamming painfully against my ribcage, like rain hitting the window panes of a lonely house, over and over and over again. Thunder, lightning, and rain.<p>

Another branch struck me in the face and it served as a late sign to duck from the clutches of yet another wooden limb. However, the moment that I followed the unspoken advice, I tripped over a small tree stump. With a gasp, I stumbled and fell to the ground. I whimpered in pain and mentally catalogued my wounds: bruises, cuts, and a perhaps a sprained ankle… However, there were no broken bones – and, for that, I was immensely thankful. But was it so wrong of me to lie here for a moment, licking my wounds? I wrapped my arms around my aching middle. Oh, it hurt!

Everything hurt…

Blood trickled down the side of my face, down my neck, and into the depths of my tunic. It clung to the metal chain and the tag that rested between my breasts – a small reminder of both the life and death that it had witnessed. The thin plate of aluminum had belonged to my brother and I had every intention of returning it to its rightful owner; however, I had to survive this battle in order to do so. Survive, and live to fight another day.

_I have to get up. _The mantra echoed in my head, but the voice was unfamiliar to me. _I have to get up and fight. _It was Oromë. _Stand up and fight! Fight, fight, fight!_

"Yes, sir," I muttered with a mock salute. "Your wish is my command…"

Again, I got to my feet, standing wearily amidst the dead trees and old, forgotten ruins of the ancient forest. I had not even encountered a single enemy, yet I was already covered in a sea of cuts, scrapes, and fresh, purple bruises – all of which pulsed in time with the beating of my heart. The odds were not in my favor, but I would succeed, even if it cost me my life. After all, that was my purpose, was it not? Sacrifice…

On a whim, I veered off the trail and headed to the northeast. My gut was telling me that Frodo and Boromir were already nearing each other; it would not be long before their altercation. I could only pray that I was given the chance to intercept one of them, as it would be too difficult for me to fend off a fully grown male – Boromir was over six feet tall, weighed more than two hundred pounds (most of which was muscle), and he was a rather talented swordsman. I, on the other hand, was short, clumsy, and only weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds. And I sucked at using magic.

Should I call Boromir, alerting him to my presence? No. That would not be such a good idea – my guardian had already been corrupted by the Ring. It would be a safer bet to warn Frodo ahead of time and send the smaller male on a different route, which would prevent their meeting entirely. No altercation. No death. But was that a wise decision?

_Yes, it will save them both. _Nodding in resolution, I declared: _I __**must**__ save them both! _

"Frodo!" I called, raising my voice over the whispers of the trees to be heard. Biting my lip, I hesitantly called him once more, praying that he was not hurt. "…where _are_ you, Frodo?"

"What are you doing such a distance away from camp, Sammy? It is quite dangerous out here, especially for a young woman," Frodo murmured quietly at my side.

I jumped in fright, clutching at my chest and gasping, "Holy shit! Don't scare me like that, you little weasel!" He was unimpressed. "…and shouldn't I be the one informing _you _of the dangers of these woods?"

Frodo cocked his head to the side, curiously inquiring, "And why is such a warning as that necessary, my lady?" Moron! He was such a little moron!

"Because _you _are the Ringbearer!" I hissed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him for emphasis. "And _you _are being _followed_ by –"

A loud, thick _crack_ split the air with a carving knife. Frodo and I both stiffened, our bodies freezing in place as we listened for a repeat of the sound. _Crack…! _The Hobbit edged closer to my slightly larger form, his expression one of terror as we simultaneously focused on the trees surrounding the old ruin. We were equally frightened, but I was the more capable fighter, sadly enough. It would be up to me to distract Boromir long enough for the Ringbearer to escape into the shadows of the whispering forest.

"Who is it that has followed me into the forest?"

…_crack…_ Another twig was broken, and so I did not take my eyes away from the trees. _Snap!_

"Other than me, myself, I?" I retorted in a low voice. "Well, it appears that the Ring has finally managed to possess our dear friend, Boromir. As it stands, we are currently awaiting his arrival."

Frodo whirled around and stared at me in horror, choking as he demanded, "Why are we _waiting _for him to arrive? Should we not run while we still have the chance?" Small hands twitched with nervous tension. "…did you hear that?"

Nodding solemnly, I whispered in his ear, "Yes. Now, wait here for a moment while I –"

"Please, do not leave me here to fend for myself," he said quietly, gaze intent upon the fallen leaves that had gathered at our feet. One small hand clutched my own in a vice grip. "Please…"

Sensing his hesitation, I crouched lower and stared straight into his eyes. "Don't be afraid. I will be standing right behind that tree, waiting for him to approach us. If he acts as I expect him to, then I will have the advantage of a surprise attack. Okay?"

A small nod, signaling his consent, was given. "…yes."

Mere seconds after I had hidden myself among the ferns surrounding the nearby trees, I heard a soft, eerie rustling, which was originating only a few feet from my hiding spot. Frodo spun in a circle, searching for the cause, but he could not find it. Instead, a pair of haunted blue eyes locked onto my face. And in my mind, I heard it –

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam! Call my name, you know who I am! _

My lips were clenched tightly together to prevent the series of sobs building in my throat. Now was not the time to grieve over lost memories and stolen time. This was not a game of chase; it was war. No time for grief. No fucking way. I had other matters to take care of. People needed me _here, _in Middle Earth. Frodo needed me. And _Boromir _needed me to save his ass… Damn him!

"None of us should wonder alone in these woods."

_Speak of the devil, and he shall come waltzing through the forest with an armful of dead twigs. _I bit my lip, quelling the urge to call out to either of my companions. _The devil…? _If I remembered correctly, Oscar Wilde had once said something along the lines of – _"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our own hell."_ I wondered, was there any truth in that statement?

"Sammy…" Frodo called in a desperate aside, pulling me from my dark thoughts. "Help me!"

Boromir continued gathering firewood, bending down to grasp a branch, as he calmly added, "You least of all, my friend. There is much at stake and so much depends upon you. We are _all _depending on you."

At the sound of his voice, the small Hobbit had stopped in his tracks, blue eyes wide and short limbs incapable of movement – frozen in time, like a small statue. Only his eyes moved, flickering back and forth between his foe, my hiding spot, and the dark woods as dozens of thoughts sped through his mind at the speed of light. Only one was repeated: _What should I do?_

My guardian appeared confused at his lack of response. "…Frodo?"

Blue eyes darted back to my hiding place, silently begging for advice. Should he respond, should he run, should he hide? I did not know, and the shaking of my head signified my befuddled state of my mind. Should I interrupt, should I run for help, should I attack my best friend? That was another series of questions that I did not know the answer to.

Tentatively, Boromir neared the smaller male. "I know why you seek solitude among these old ruins, Frodo. You suffer, do you not?"

His words appeared to hit home with the small Hobbit, as he suddenly began to move again. With conviction, he faced the Gondorian, and – almost imperceptibly – he nodded his head in agreement. Frodo did indeed appear to know the answer to _this _particular question. And I barely heard the soft, pitiful word spoken in the affirmative. Blue eyes closed in regret as it echoed in the silence of the lush forest. _Yes…_

"There are other ways to rid the world of this burden. Other paths that we might take to destroy the Ring," Boromir insisted with a tiny, crooked smile. It was a small sign of the man that was still within, caged by the evil in his mind – a victim of the Ring.

Frodo interrupted his rant, gritting his teeth and saying, "I know what you would say to me, Boromir." A deep breath as he made his decision. "It might also seem like wisdom, but for the warning in my heart that indicates otherwise."

_Oh, shit. _I cursed my indecision to the nine levels of Hell. _What the fuck should I do __**now**__?_

"'…warning?'" Boromir parroted slowly, as if the word were foreign to him. "A warning against _what,_ might I ask? We are _all _afraid, but we should not let that fear drive us to destroy what little hope we still have…"

Frodo was already backing away, his eyes darting away from Boromir for just the briefest of moments. His gaze was on my small form as I carefully crept through dry, broken twigs and moist grass, intent upon silently following the pair as they distanced themselves from my previous hiding spot. I edged closer and closer, my feet sliding quietly along the forest floor as I neared them, hidden in the taller shadow of my guardian. My hands were wrapped firmly around a long, pointy tree branch, which I had found resting among the underbrush; it was sturdy, and a good weapon.

"Do you not see that such a thing is madness?" Boromir demanded harshly.

"There is no other way! None at all!" Frodo exclaimed in desperation, as though he too wished this new path was actually an option. Less pain for all involved. "I wish that there were, but…"

Those were the words that set him off, and Boromir threw his armful of timber to the ground with an infuriated huff. "I ask you only for the capability – no, the power – to defend my people! If you would only lend me the Ring –"

Frodo visibly withdrew, shrinking into his cloak with a startled cry of – "No!"

"Why do you recoil, my friend?" Boromir whispered, voice pained as he hissed, "I am no thief!"

Inhaling sharply, I tightened my grip on the thick branch that rested in my grasp. Edging closer and closer to my target… One wrong move and the older male would be struck without a thought on my part; it would not matter that he was a good man, or that he was one of my precious ones. I had grown to love him, perhaps as much as my big brother, but there was too much at stake for me to base my actions solely upon my feelings.

_The fate of many…_

The Hobbit was quiet for a moment, biting his lip in thought, before finally whispering, "You are no longer yourself, Boromir. I believe that you wish me harm and so I recoil from you thusly." Blue eyes were dark with pain. "Is that not a good enough reason?"

"And what chance do you stand against the evil that plagues us, when you cannot even defend yourself from one such as me?" demanded Boromir, as he quickly closed the distance between them.

Frodo jerked away once more, crying, "Stop!"

"That evil will take the Ring, but only after _killing_ you!"

I had heard enough. Those words signified the beginning of the end, a time in which this person would no longer have control over his own mind, body, or actions. Yes, this was it – the darkness lurking in this world had possessed his soul and was tearing it away from him, bit by bit, as it tricked him into acting upon its will. So it was time for me to act. Now was the time to serve my purpose: to sacrifice myself for others. To live, to love, and to grow.

_One love shall be born of memories, one of pain, and yet another of the heart._

It dawned upon me suddenly and without warning. _One of pain. _Three loves, and one would be born of pain. _Boromir is no longer himself. _Could I really withstand the pain in my heart to do what was needed of me? _So much pain. _I wanted to save him. _Pain… _I loved him, as one might love a father.

With a final glance in my direction, to which I nodded solemnly, the Hobbit resolutely turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, heading towards our campsite. Boromir remained frozen in place for a brief moment or two, but then the muscles in his arms and legs shifted. The intent in his eyes was clear. He was going to attack the smaller male – now.

Tiny, blue and silver notes exploded from beneath my skin like chips of broken ice. Each of the dozens of notes floated in the air around my body, acting as an invisible barrier as I leapt forward and tackled the older, taller, and stronger male to the ground. Boromir had startled at the sudden sound of the music and was unprepared for my attack; thus, he fell to the ground with a loud thud, even though he outweighed me by about seventy or so pounds.

"Run, Frodo!" I screamed, struggling to hold the Man down to the ground with only a tree branch and my own weight to aid me. "You need to run back to camp and warn the others! The Uruk-hai are coming!"

The Hobbit faltered and called, "But what about you, Sammy? You cannot hold him there forever!"

I heard a bone snapping in my lower left arm, finding it strange that I could not feel the painful sensation. "I'm…fine. Just run…for…help!" I gasped out amidst my struggles.

Boromir snarled in my face and I recoiled at the emotion burning in his eyes – eyes that were now black with pure hatred. And such hatred was direction at _me_, of all people. Oh, how my heart ached as I pinned him to the ground with my knees. Here he was, my father in everything but blood, and I was being forced to act against him. But I loved him, and that was why I was trying my damn best to keep him from attacking someone else, someone that would not forgive him as easily as I might.

"It should be mine!" Boromir roared in outrage. "It should have been mine, and it will be! Do you hear me, you little witch? I will have the Ring!"

With only a fraction of his strength, the Man bucked his hips against mine and sent my body flying through the air. I slammed hard into the bark of a nearby tree. Painfully, I tried to cling to the bark, knowing that I was about to fall to the equally hard ground. A splinter lodged itself in the palm of my right hand as I dug it into the tree, trying to remain suspended in the air, but to no avail – I fell to the ground with a heavy thud. I barely heard the sound of my guardian sitting up, clambering to his feet, and charging in my direction. Instead, I remained on the ground, lying motionless; I fought to catch my breath.

"How _dare_ you separate me from my prize? You are a _stupid,_ evil _witch!_ Did you really believe me capable of mercy?"

The voice was not his own. It was too dark, too deep, and too raw with emotion to belong to my friend. Too demonic. And it certainly did not prevent him from lifting me into the air by the scruff of my neck, holding me in place with one strong, ironclad hand. I hung there limply, praying to all that was holy for someone to save me. I did not want to die_. _Surely someone would save me, come to my rescue, protect me. Love me.

Indeed, I did not want to die, so why had I charged so willingly into the hands of Death?

_I...don't want…to die…_

Because as soon as I'd realized what was happening, I had panicked, instigated a small distraction, and then run into the forest as though the hounds of Hell were after me, nipping at my ankles. Now, the others were far away, and there was no one to help me out of this mess. Once again, I had not realized that I would never, ever amount to _anything. _ I did not have the power to withstand the raging tides of destiny. No one was going to save me because I was a failure. I would always be a failure.

"Save…me…" I wanted my big brother. "…please!"

Boromir pressed his face against mine, until our noses touched. "Fool. I will not grant you mercy, as your filthy gods have time and time again."

The grip around my neck tightened to the point that I was literally seeing stars. Bright flashes of white, red, and gold light flickered in my vision, which was fading into darkness. I fought against the call of the afterlife. Begged for more time. More time… I wanted more time, dammit!

"I will not allow you to live a life that was not yours to begin with!"

Time was falling away, into the darkness of another time, another world. Seth smiled at me and raised a large, tan hand in greeting – _Samantha, Sammy, Sam! Call my name, you know who I am!_ Time was falling through the cracks in my bleeding fingers, like shards of frosted glass. _Call my name, Sammy! _Time had slipped through my fingers, again… The Fellowship was falling to the filthy hands of the Uruk-hai, the henchmen of their enemy. If I did not do something – and soon – then the storyline would continue as it was originally written by Tolkien. Boromir would die! I needed to do something…anything…

_Call my name!_

"…Boromir…" I whispered the name, grinning as it whistled into the air like music. "Listen…to my song…"

With a snarl, he tried to place his hand over my mouth. "Silence, you little witch! I will hear none of your hideous spells!" But he was not fast enough to stifle the notes trickling over my lips, each stained with the bright, crimson blood of my heart.

"Tick tock, hear the clock countdown," I sang quietly, too tired to truly project my voice. _More time, I want more time!_ "Wish the minute hand could be rewound…"

I expected another harsh, dark command for my silence; however, Boromir merely stared at me with blank eyes. The hatred had faded from their depths, but I knew that the evil of Sauron still lurked beneath the surface, fighting to regain control over its host. Apparently, my magic did have a purpose – it served as a barrier against the clutches of evil.

"Feel the moment slip into the past, like sand through an hourglass!" I was gaining strength, which meant that his grip on my neck was loosening. About fucking time!

Boromir opened his mouth and, confused, uttered, "…Samantha?" As if it was a normal occurrence for him to have me in a chokehold. "Oh!" He gasped and I was released. "Oh, no…"

Slowly, I sank to the ground and continued with my song. "Today, I'm gonna love my enemies. Reach out to somebody who needs me – make a change, make the world a better place."

"Samantha, can you hear me? Please, _answer _me!" Boromir shook my shoulders, demanding a response that I could not yet give. Could not stop singing. "…Samantha!"

"Tick tock, hear my life pass by. I can't erase, and I can't rewind. Of all the things I regret the most, I do wish I'd spent more time with you," I whispered, as I began to sing the final chorus of the song. "Here's my chance for a new beginning. I saved the best for a better ending."

He immediately panicked, taking this as a sign for the worse. "Do not think to leave me here alone, you stupid woman! Do you _hear_ me?" Another rough shaking of the shoulders. "Do _not _leave me, Samantha!"

"In the end, I'll make it up to you. You'll see…" I sang softly, closing my watering eyes with relief. Boromir was back to normal; I had won, and now – I could rest. "You'll get the very best of me…"

I sank into oblivion, welcoming the sweet call of sleep. As I drifted away, unconscious, I was unaware of the strong arms lifting me into the air and carrying me down the path, to the sound of our companions' voices, calling us deeper into the forest. I was equally unaware of the words he whispered to my unmoving form: I was his friend, his ward, his daughter… And I would not be allowed to die, not after all I had risked bringing him back into the light.

Unfortunately, I was also unaware of the dangers – the growing numbers, dozens and dozens of Uruk-hai – surrounding us at every turn and twist as we traveled deeper into the forest. I was unable to warn Boromir against our chosen path, which would only end in pain, and suffering, and death. And I was unable to awaken as Boromir fought against the monstrous creatures to protect the Hobbits. I was unable to do anything.

Ah, fuck. Where was Aragorn when you needed him?

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

And, you guys exceeded the review expectation (er, demand?) by two, so I've decided to post the next chapter. ;) My only problem now is to decide whether or not Boromir lives, or dies - his life is in my hands. MWAHAHAHA! Ahem...

And thanks for all of the reviews! Apparently, you guys respond better to threats, not requests. Odd, how that worked out. XD

So, our goal before the next chapter is...uh, 55 reviews? Maybe. I guess.

*Checks Clock* It is 11:05 pm here, so I would like to wish everyone a Happy New Year's Eve! Be safe, and enjoy the holiday! :)

P.S. The name of the song at the ending of this chapter is _One Day Too Late, _by Skillet.


	12. Chapter 11: Judgment Day

~Chapter Eleven~

Judgment Day

_Waste Away,  
>I'm Crawling Blind,<br>Hollowed By What I Left Inside. _

"_Close My Eyes," These Voices Say.  
>Haunting Me; I Can't Escape.<br>For You, Just You…  
>Time Will Wait.<em>

_I Will Run and Hide Till Memories Fade Away,  
>And I Will Leave Behind a Love So Strong.<em>

_~Hide,_ by RED

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Unfortunately, I was also unaware of the dangers – the growing numbers, dozens and dozens of Uruk-hai – surrounding us at every turn and twist as we traveled deeper into the forest. I was unable to warn Boromir against our chosen path, which would only end in pain, and suffering, and death. And I was unable to awaken as Boromir fought against the monstrous creatures to protect the Hobbits. I was unable to do anything.<strong>

**Ah, fuck. Where was Aragorn when you needed him?**

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><p>Death was near. I could sense it – the taste was practically burning a hole in the soft flesh of my tongue as I opened my mouth to call out for my companions. <em>Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli…<em> My mind was numb and could not focus its attention on any one thing for long. Slowly, it warmed to the sensations of the living, and I was left to wake myself. My eyes were open now, so why was it this fucking dark?

With a grunt, I shoved against the force weighing heavily upon my chest. It would not budge, so I tried again, cringing upon the realization that my lower left arm was still broken; it would not obey my commands to move. Just as I was about ready to throw in the proverbial white towel of surrender, a soft sound of surprise was heard from somewhere in the distance, and suddenly – the weight was gone. I could breathe again!

"You are alive!"

I groaned pathetically. "Is that what you call this pathetic state of being? Well, that sucks ass, man…"

"Oh, little one," Aragorn breathed, gray eyes bright as he leaned over my form. "I thought that you were to be among the fallen, as well."

It was as though he had suddenly shoved an energy drink down my parched throat. I sat up and gave a startled cry, "Boromir!"

Without a thought for my wounds, I tried to shove by the bleeding Ranger, intent upon finding my guardian. Aragorn was having none of that, and he quickly wrapped his arms around me to still my struggles. I fought against his hold, crying out that I had to find Boromir, but he would not release me. A large, grimy hand cupped my chin and lifted it into the air, surveying the damage done to my throat – ten thick, purple bruises, each the size of a finger, lined the sides of my neck.

I found myself staring straight into his stormy eyes as I pleaded, "Please, please, _please_ let me find him…"

"You are willing to search for him, even after he has done you harm?" Aragorn murmured, seemingly distraught that I would risk my life yet again for such a man. "You would have been left for _dead_ had I not come upon you struggling under that corpse!"

Shuddering at the mere thought of lying under a dead creature, I quietly whispered, "It was not his fault; Boromir was not himself. But I was able to save him from the possession of the Ring! We were on our way to find the rest of the Fellowship when I blacked out –"

He hissed in anger, examining my form with a more critical eye. The marks were apparently bad, but not so dark that he would have believed them to be fatal. Clearly, it had not occurred to him that I was deprived of oxygen for such a long time. When in direct correlation with asphyxiation, however, fainting only occurred near death. And judging from the uneasy look on his face, it appeared that Aragorn thought I'd suffered a bit of brain damage, as well. Just because I was defending my attacker!

"Boromir was only trying to bring me to safety!" I insisted with a dark, irritated scowl. "So quit looking at me like…seriously! Stop it with the goddamn pity, Aragorn!"

The Ranger was quiet for a moment as he considered my words, and then he said, "So he was ambushed by the Uruk-hai. He must have set you down in order to fight off their advances, and – based upon these tracks – two of the Hobbits were being attacked…"

I nodded my head in the affirmative. "It must have been Merry and Pippin! They were trying their best to distract the enemy, so that Frodo could escape."

He studied the ground near our feet, piecing together the battle. "Apparently, the three of them traveled this way, amongst a large group of our enemies." Cursing, he muttered, "This is not good."

"No shit, Sherlock," I muttered dryly. Ignoring the vehement protests from my companion, I made to pick myself up from the cold, wet ground; it was slick with blood. "Ow…"

Aragorn steadied my wobbling form, and made to lift me into his arms. "You are not well enough to stand on your own, Sammy," he scolded gently. "And we will be traveling quite a distance."

I evaded his grasp and rudely snapped, "Oh, shut up! You and I both know that you'll be unable to support my weight _and _fight off our enemies!" He made to protest again, but I ignored his words. "Come on… It's this way."

The Ranger did not object to following in my wake. Instead, he ran after my small form like a sleek, black panther. And although he was wounded, there was little evidence that Aragorn was in pain. In fact, it appeared as though he was merely fatigued, or short of breath. I envied him for that silent strength; it was a clear indication that he was destined to rule these lands as the future King of Gondor. On the other hand, I was struggling to remain at a consistent pace as I charged ahead, breathing heavily against the pain in my neck and broken left arm.

"Are you certain that our companions traveled this way, little one?" Aragorn queried with a worried glance in my direction. "It appears that the battle continued in _that _particular area of the forest."

I sighed wearily, cursing his intuition with every fiber of my being. "Yes, Aragorn. I'm_ certain_ that this is the correct path." With a snort, I muttered, "In fact, you might say that it was a shortcut. A very steep, very difficult to navigate one, but a shortcut nonetheless…"

Against his better judgment, the Ranger appeared amused. "Indeed. Might I ask how you came upon this particular shortcut?"

With a scowl, I was about to retort that watching _The Lord of the Rings _movies about twenty times each had its benefits, when we heard it – the sound of a bowstring whistling in the air as an arrow was fitted into the bow. There was no doubt in my mind that the bow in question belonged to a rather mean Uruk-hai, which led me to believe that things were proceeding according to plan, or rather – to the plot of the original storyline.

My heart skipped a beat. _Boromir…!_

Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed Aragorn flying through the air and tackling the ugly creature to the ground, which caused the arrow to go shooting off into the sky, quite a distance away from its intended target. There was a brief scuffle as they regained their footing and attacked each other once more. I cringed at the sound of their blades meeting repeatedly, but the sound did not last long because Aragorn was soon disarmed; he was shoved against a tree, and his weapon went in another direction entirely.

I made my way to Boromir, helping him stand and propping him against the base of an old tree as I watched the war being waged between our companion and his enemy. Aragorn had successfully escaped the clutches of the metal shield, stabbed the enemy in the leg, and regained his sword – with a few extra scrapes and bruises, a nosebleed, and a headache to boost. Ouch.

"Samantha…"

"…rest. Please, just rest for a little while," I begged as my hands smoothed the blonde hair away from his bloody, tired face. "This will all be over soon, and we can continue on with our journey, okay?"

Boromir smiled weakly at my efforts, but his eyes told another story; they spoke of death. "I do not believe that I will be able to accompany you any further, my dear. It appears that this is my end."

Emphatically, I shook my head in the negative, whispering, "No! Don't you dare give up on me, Boromir!" I hid my face in his arm, trying to ignore the sounds of clashing metal and the screams of ripping flesh. "You cannot leave me, Boromir. Please, I don't want to be alone again."

"Not alone," he gasped, closing his dark eyes tightly against a sudden wave of pain. "You will have the others to look after you, silly girl."

"I don't _want_ the others to have to look after me! Only you," I protested loudly.

There was one final sound – one of death – and then the repeated hissing of metal upon metal reached an end. Vaguely, I registered that an individual was approaching us, climbing over the dead corpses that surrounded our hiding spot. I slowly turned my head to the left. Prayed that it was Aragorn nearing our location, and not the evil creature that had treated my guardian as a pincushion.

_So scared… _

Boromir focused on the individual, gritted his teeth in pain, and exclaimed, "Those monsters took the little ones!"

"Be still…" Aragorn urgently murmured, running his hands over the obvious wounds on his companion's chest. "You must be still, my friend."

I found it odd that there were only two arrows embedded in his flesh, but said nothing as Aragorn went about tending to the deep wounds. It appeared that he sought to staunch the flow of blood, so the older male left the arrows within their thick sockets, treating them both as makeshift tourniquets. The flow of blood had slowed tremendously and the Gondorian was not having near as much trouble gathering breath as he had mere seconds ago. A bit of color had returned to his cheeks, as well.

For the moment, Boromir was alive.

"Samantha, I must thank you for distracting me long enough for Frodo to escape. Had you not fought against me, I would have taken the Ring, and more than likely killed him in the process," Boromir said, his voice thick with shame as his eyes sought mine.

"I was only following my heart, and it told me to try and save you both." I placed a hand over my heart, which beat continuously beneath my open palm. "…it has yet to lead me astray."

Boromir slowly lifted his right hand and gingerly touched the base of my throat. "As it is, I managed to hurt you instead," he whispered with regret, "My daughter in all but blood."

I bit back a shaky sob; however, I could not prevent a sniffle as the thoughts continued. _Not even my own father would refer to me with such affection. And he would __**never**__ have admitted to having a child, let alone two._

"This is nothing," I assured my guardian with a small, tender smile. "Trust me – I've had much, much worse." At his curious expression, I laughingly explained, "Training horses and tending to cattle day after day is not as easy as it sounds!"

My words served as a suitable distraction; thus, Aragorn discreetly made to cut the arrows at their bases. He did so against the wishes of our wounded comrade, using a serrated knife that he had pilfered from a nearby corpse to saw through the strong wood. The projectiles were removed, snapped in half, and set aside. Just as we were about to lift him and tend to the other side, a pair of dark, gray eyes focused on the area immediately behind us.

Boromir reached for my hands, grasping them in his own. "It is here. My time has come," he said through heavy gasps of pain. "Aragorn, please protect my daughter. And fight for Gondor, as the time of change is upon us."

"There is some strength yet in my blood. I promise to you that neither will perish. Sammy will be cared for, and I will not let the White City fall upon ruin," the Ranger whispered a quiet oath to his kin. Gray eyes shone with sincerity as he added, "Or our people."

"…our people," Boromir agreed with a firm nod. Blood trickled from between his chapped lips, as he whispered, "I would have followed you to the end, my brother, my captain…and my king."

I could not take it anymore. Closing my eyes, I buried my face in his shoulder, pleading for him to stop talking, and to rest. To stay with us, and to live. Fate was so cruel to steal yet another of my dear ones. And the threat of losing someone so precious to me, so very dear to my heart, was like taking a knife and repeatedly jamming it into my own chest. I just wanted to curl up in the hollow of a nearby tree and die.

In the distance, I heard Legolas calling for us in his native tongue, and I waited for him to enter this particular section of dense forest. Vaguely, I registered his use of the Elvish word: _Estel. _It triggered something deep within the forgotten shadows of my mind and I sensed that it was important, but I could not find the strength to search through the memories for this new revelation. I was too focused on Boromir. As of this moment, however, his eyes were once again trained upon a figure in the distance. And this time, I could tell that it was not Legolas, or Gimli.

_I can sense it_. The acrid taste was once again in my mouth. _I can sense it drawing nearer. _

With a heavy heart, I turned around and addressed the newcomer. "Long time, no see," I said with a small, bitter smirk. "Come to join the party, eh?"

The tall, cloaked figure crept closer, but only so far as the shadows of the forest extended. He refused to step any closer to us. A pair of crimson eyes was barely visible from beneath his cloak, yet it was clear to all that they glittered with malice. Even so, the others stepped forward, with their weapons at the ready. Nonetheless, their stances were solely defensive in nature – each was aware of the title belonging to this particular creature.

Death was here.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Thus, we have come to the turning point in the story. Will Boromir be saved, or will he die? _The choice is up to you! _ As it is, the vote is currently at having Boromir die - the story will continue along the lines of the original work, but with some changes on my part. Obviously! I mean, Sammy _is _falling in love with Aragorn! ;)

That said - **please read and review!** The next chapter will be up after this story gets **65 reviews**, or if I have additional time; although, the former is more likely! XD


	13. Chapter 12:  Black, White, and Gray

~Chapter Twelve~

Black, White, and Gray

_Fiction and Reality Collide.  
>Faceless and So Busted Up Inside,<br>You've Been Searching, You're Been Crying Out.  
>Will You Be Destroyed By All Your Doubt?<em>

_From the Fear that Swallows Up Your Life,  
>Will You Stay the Same, Or Will You Fight?<em>

_Only Love Can Change Your Life._

_~You Decide,_ by Fireflight

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>The tall, cloaked figure crept closer, but only so far as the shadows of the forest extended. He refused to step any closer to us. A pair of crimson eyes was barely visible from beneath his cloak, yet it was clear to all that they glittered with malice. Even so, the others stepped forward, with their weapons at the ready. Nonetheless, their stances were solely defensive in nature – each was aware of the title belonging to this particular creature.<strong>

**Death was here.**

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><p>With one, skeletal hand, Death removed his hood. "It appears that we meet once again, Child of Manwë," he drawled, feigning surprise as he continued, "Ah! And your heart is actually beating this time around… Imagine that."<p>

I smiled sweetly and quipped, "Funny thing, the heart – it appears to have a firm mind of its own. And, contrary to popular belief, I actually have a tendency to follow its orders."

Death sneered at my words, not threatened in the slightest. "Yes, I have been forewarned about your attachment to that tender, affectionate _heart _that still beats beneath your breasts_._" Two annoyed, red eyes focused on my chest. "It makes a most irritating sound."

"Well, I would apologize if that offends you," I began with a slow hum of thought, before finally admitting, "But honestly, I don't give a flying fuck."

Up until that point, I had paid no attention to the others. No one else mattered but the dead creature staring down his nose at me like I was unworthy of his time. Now, however, I was forced to focus on the dark, strong figure of the future King of Gondor. The Man was so close to me that he was almost sitting in my lap. It was a rather uncomfortable position. Hurt my back, actually…

"You little idiot…" Aragorn hissed darkly. Looming over my form, he demanded, "Do you have any idea what that creature is capable of, or the _power_ that he holds?" He yanked on the sleeve of my tunic for emphasis. "Samantha!"

I ignored the irritating pest and continued speaking with the dead entity. "Tell me, Death, have you come to steal away _another_ of my precious ones?"

"Yes, my darling child," Death purred, voice as rich as velvet as he finally stepped closer and crouched before me. "It _is_ my duty to collect the souls of the Lost Ones, after all. Do you not remember that from our first meeting?"

My lips parted in a gasp. It had become increasingly difficult to remember the night of my death, but now it was as clear to me as fresh spring water. I watched the memory play in his bloody eyes like a movie on a television screen – stepping in front of a vehicle traveling at over sixty miles an hour, my small form falling victim to at least four different tires, and crumpling under the weight of a huge eighteen wheeler.

Six hours…

It had taken the rescue team six hours to remove my mangled corpse from beneath the wheels of the giant truck. Bits of brain matter and flattened guts were strewn across the rubber tires, the metal of the truck, and the black pavement of the road. Blood was everywhere.

I knew that because I was there, in spirit, waiting for Death to come and retrieve me. I was there, and so I watched them do it. _So much blood…_

Blue eyes did not stray from the sight before me. "That was so cruel of you to force me to watch that for a second time," I whispered, horrified and deeply disturbed – was that my _liver_ over there in the grass?

"You were willing to take your own life; thus, you should be just as willing to witness it from _my_ perspective! I have to see such gore every hour of every day, month, and _year._ Yet you cannot even watch your own death without flinching? Pathetic mortal…" he hissed in annoyance.

Howling in anger, I sat straighter and shrieked, "Don't call me that! I am not pathetic! I am _not _a lesser mortal! Yes, I am mortal, but I have the capability to live as you do not! My lungs draw air, my heart beats in my chest, and I am _alive._"

"Strange that such a small word could transform you into a screaming banshee," Death taunted with a wide, fanged smile. "Oh, the word 'lesser' seems to put you in a right state. It is most amusing."

I growled at him. "Do not…say it…again…"

The dead entity cocked his head to the side, musing, "Ah, you are thinking back to your time in the Hall of Mandos. Yes, Lord Oromë has indeed missed your presence. He is most dull without you there to torture endlessly."

My heart stuttered to a quick stop, fearing a return to that dreaded place. At the sound of his loud, evil cackling, however, it returned to its normal pace. Beating strongly behind my heaving breasts. Seemingly, this irritated the creature immensely – Death glared at my chest with two crimson eyes, almost as though he believed himself capable of scaring it into heart failure.

Oh, if looks could kill…

"That bastard does not miss me! He absolutely _hates _me!" I shrieked in fury.

Death tapped a piece of dead skin hanging from his right arm with a single, long finger. "Does he? Oh, yes. I had a momentary lapse in memory," he explained easily, gesturing to his old, decaying body. "It happens occasionally in one of my age, you see."

To say that I lost it might be a bit of an understatement. In fact, it would be much more accurate to label my reaction as _going over the edge. _I screamed, and ranted, and raved. Kicked the nearby trees and pointed at the dead entity with a shaking finger. Words, angry words that I had kept to myself, so many words that I had trapped within the confines of my mind came pouring out like a thunderstorm. Thunder, lightning, and rain.

"That fucking son of a bitch berated me, _over_ and _over_ and _over _again_,_ for being so goddamned _selfish!_" The words were flying, and the only thing on my mind was relieving the tension pounding behind my eyes. "He told me to live for someone other than myself, or my brother. Oromë almost had me drawn and quartered – with _bowstrings! _ And why? Because I'm such a selfish bitch!"

Death interrupted with a quick wave of his skeletal hand, seeking my attention. "Speaking of which, how are the scars upon your fragile body? Have the wounds healed as of yet?" he asked in mock politeness.

"No!" I bellowed, gesturing to the nasty, red lines on my wrists and around my neck. "They are still as fucking clear as the day that I received them! I look _hideous!_ Are you happy with that response, you lousy excuse for an errand boy?"

Red eyes narrowed in contempt. "I am unable to tell whether it is your bravery or your stupidity that fuels your insults at this point in time. Nevertheless, you are beginning to grate on my nerves," the death entity said slowly.

"You don't _have _any nerves, you stupid piece of shit! You are _dead! _Dead as a doornail!"

"Samantha, please hold your tongue!" Aragorn begged in a horse whisper. "You must not anger him any further! It will only end in pain and suffering."

I really should have listened to him, but alas – I had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. Being raised on a ranch could do that to a girl, especially when one was surrounded by males twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, for the entirety of the year. Guns, and not diamonds, were my best friends. Too bad that the only weapon I was actually capable of wielding had not been invented in this world.

"You are so gonna regret pissing me off…" With a growl, I reached for the bow and arrow that rested by my side (thank you, Legolas, for finding it), but it was ripped from my hands. "Oi! Give that back!"

Again, Aragorn tried to corral me, and once again, I jerked away. I snarled viciously and turned to face the handsy Ranger, intent on screaming at him to keep his hands to himself, but I stopped in my tracks upon catching sight of his expression. His stormy eyes were staring at me with such worry in their endless, gray depths. I wanted to apologize; however, I could not do so in front of my nemesis. I could not appear weak.

Never, ever again could I appear weak in the face of Death.

"That asshole told me to live for _someone else. _He told me to love another. And I _do!_" My chest hurt and I clutched at it, trying to contain the ache with only the pressure of my dirty, bare hands. "Now you just want to steal him _away_ from me?"

Death said nothing at first, and then firmly stated, "It is his destiny to die in your place, as you would have died had he not fought your attackers. And your destiny, in turn, is to sacrifice yourself for the sake of Hope."

My eyes widened at his words. "…Boromir is supposed to die…in my place?" I bit back a sob, whimpering quietly to myself as I shook my head and protested, "But that isn't how it was written in the books, or the movies! He was supposed to die while protecting the Hobbits!"

"Ah, but you were not previously a part of this tale, were you?" Death cruelly pointed out, sneering at my heartbroken expression. His red eyes glittered with mirth. "Yes, my child – it is _your _fault."

The words echoed in my head, as though he were whispering them directly into my brain. _It is __**your **__fault. _I clapped a hand over my mouth in horror. Closed my eyes, shutting them tightly against the sudden, uneasy feeling in my stomach. _It is __**your **__fault. _Deep within my heart, I knew what was about to happen. Boromir was going to die, and I would have no one to blame but myself._ Your fault, your fault, your fault! _

That did not, however, explain why the dead entity found the need to torment me. Yes, Death was cruel, and apparently despised my very existence, but the entity was also a willing, pliable creature; he was often willing to negotiate with his victims. And it was _this _that was the reason that some individuals were given a second chance at life.

But Boromir… He was going to die, wasn't he? And there was nothing that I could do to stop it. I was going to lose my first real friend – my _best _friend – to Death.

_War stole something from me._

"Samantha…" Boromir groaned quietly and turned his head to the side, staring at me with weary, gray eyes. "…you cannot fight against destiny, little one…"

"Oh, but I already have." My voice dropped an octave and I stepped closer to Death, blue eyes narrowed in icy anger. "I survived the wrath of Oromë – not once, but twice now – and I escaped _your_ clutches, as well."

A pair of glowing, red eyes flashed with anger. And yet, the dead entity did not speak; he was completely, strangely silent. As silent as a grave.

Smiling grimly, I took another step forward and snickered, "And that pisses you off, doesn't it?"

It appeared that my words were finally beginning to hit home. Or below the belt. The dead entity edged even closer – there was less than two feet of space between us now – and rested his skeletal hands on my chest, directly over my heart. Slowly, he reached upwards. One small, sharp finger stabbed at the tender, red flesh on my bruised neck. He picked at the thick scar that encircled my neck with a single black nail. The wound reopened and it began to bleed, the blood trickling down my neck and into my cleavage. It hurt like a bitch, but I did not cry out or flinch against the pain.

I refused to give him that satisfaction.

"Lesser mortal," Death taunted as he wrapped his hand around my neck, tracing the purple bruises that remained. "You may breathe and you may live, but you bleed, as well." One finger dipped into the open wound and I finally cried out. "Too much blood…and you will die."

Inhaling sharply, I twisted away from him and snarled, "How dare you think so little of me! I _will _fight against you, even if I _am _a pathetic, lesser mortal."

A high, thin laugh escaped bleeding lips. "And what can _you _do, Samantha May Steel? What can one stupid, selfish female possibly do to prevent the death of this Man?" he demanded, gesturing towards my dying guardian.

_War stole something from me…_ No, that couldn't possibly be right. _It was __**Death **__that stole something from me. _I hissed in anger. _Death did this to me!_

"No more blood shall be spilled on my account, you wretched creature!" I said, poking him in the chest in a threatening manner.

"Oh, but I am afraid that you do not scare me, my child. Quite the opposite, in fact – I actually find you to be rather amusing," Death murmured quietly. Pale, white lips twisted upwards in a condescending smile as he shoved me aside.

Staggering to a stop, I raised my eyes and stared into his crimson gaze. "I will rebel."

His broken, yellow teeth clenched tightly together in anger; suddenly, his gaze locked on the silver chain dangling from my neck. One small, metal dog tag swung back and forth in the faint breeze that whistled through the trees. Like a wind chime. Soothing, serene, and sweet, it was my precious treasure. Death smiled at the sight and relaxed once more, as if remembering something important – something that I had apparently forgotten.

"The Valar want me to aid in the survival of Middle Earth," I reminded him with a wide, bitter smile. "But I will not do it. Not if you kill my precious ones. You can go fuck yourself first, you stupid son of a bitch!"

"Such vulgarity!" Death cried in delight, clapping his hands together as he slyly added, "Ah, but that is the beauty of your kind. You are a crude and _nasty_ creature, yet you remain innocent to the touch of men!"

My face flushed at his words. I was embarrassed that he found it to be amusing to speak them aloud and in front of my male companions. Nonetheless, my eyes were inexplicably drawn to the tall, regal male crouching to my right. Although it had been unintentional, I'd already informed him of my purity, something that I treasured almost as dearly as the metal tag hanging from my neck.

I wanted Aragorn, but I could not have him. Death knew that – and it _really_ pissed me off.

"You will not take his life!" I exclaimed, no longer certain of what male I was referring to – Seth, Boromir, or Aragorn. "I forbid it! Do you hear me? I absolutely _forbid _it!"

"You are a filthy, ignorant little bitch!" Death screeched, infuriated at my commands. "Who are _you _to forbid me anything at all?"

Against my better judgment, I recoiled, falling into the open arms of Aragorn. I shivered at the sight of the dead entity releasing his hold on the powerful black magic of the afterlife, calling forth the power of the dead. The ground began to shake and a few wayward spirits soared into the air. Black, empty eyes stared at Boromir as they hovered in front of us. Their mouths were open in silent screams.

I whimpered fearfully at the horrifying sight. That could have been me had I not made that wish, that plea for another chance – _I wish for a reason to live. _These ghosts were my brethren. My stomach clenched and I felt as though I was going to be suddenly and violently sick.

Aragorn wrapped a strong, protective arm around my shaking shoulders; the other remained tightly clenched around his sword. Darkness clung to everything and everyone, but his weapon glistened in the faint light of late afternoon. The sharp tip was pointed straight at the dead entity, warning him away as the magic changed directions and drifted towards the pair of us. Dark, black magic ignored the threat and crept closer yet. It was hungry, and it could hear the fading heartbeat singing in the background. Boromir was dying.

"I am Death! And I will do as I damn well please! Is that understood?"

I stood protectively in front of Boromir, placing my arms outwards and retorting, "Over my dead body!"

Death was silent for a moment, apparently caught off guard, and then – "That can certainly be arranged, my child."

"Go ahead!" I hissed in his face. My grin was positively evil as I pointed out, "And see if Oromë doesn't kick your bony ass for sending me back to wreak havoc in his peaceful dwelling a _third _time."

"…fine." He gritted his teeth in anger, practically grinding them into fairy dust. "We shall strike a deal then, yes?"

I immediately paused, not trusting the dead entity. "And if I should refuse?"

A slow, creepy smile crept across his face. "Then I will most certainly take his life," he purred.

"No," I mumbled, shaking my head at his words. _Not possible. _ "No, no, no…"

"Or, I suppose that I could simply find your brother and let him fall prey to the call of war – he is a soldier once again, after all. I could kill him and eat his soul. And Seth would never, ever, be reborn again," he said the words slowly, carefully, so that I could understand.

_No, this cannot be happening!_ I bit back a scream, one of panic and desperation. _Please, no…_

"Poor child." In my ear, he happily whispered, "And then you would never, _ever,_ be reunited with one another." Death cupped my chin in a single, white hand. "Do you understand me, little mortal?"

Oh, yes. I understood his words perfectly. This was a world that lived only for good and evil, strong and weak, black and white… There were only ever two choices. One was good; the other, bad. Absolutely no middle ground existed in this world – there was no gray area. And so I was being given an ultimatum: Boromir, or my big brother. One would live, and the other would die.

That much I understood. It was the answer to the question, however, that I was still uncertain of. Should I choose Seth, my precious big brother – _born together, die together_ – or Boromir, my father in all but blood? Was there a good choice, a right chose, a smart choice? Was there a bad choice, a wrong choice, a stupid choice? Or was it possible for me to cheat Death and save both of my precious ones?

_One will live, and the other will die._

"I wish…"

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**You guys are so freakin' awesome! :D** I really appreciate all the feedback - it has definitely inspired me to work harder on this story!

So, here is the next chapter! The next chapter will answer that one, repeated question: will Boromir die?

As of right now, **you guys have voted...** 1) Yes = 4; 2) No = 13. That should tell you guys something! ;) (Hint, hint...)

Um...I guess our next goal is **80 reviews!** Please and thank you - they are the magic words! XD


	14. Chapter 13:  Deal wth the Devil

~Chapter Thirteen~

Deal with the Devil

_I'm in Love with the Darkness of the Night.  
>I'm in Love with All That's Out of Sight.<br>I'm in Love with the Magic of the New,  
>And the Darkness Loves Me, Too.<em>

_It Will Gently Wash Away the Sorrows of the Day._

_~In Love With the Darkness,_ by Xandria

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>One would live, and the other would die.<strong>

**That much I understood. It was the answer to the question, however, that I was still uncertain of. Should I choose Seth, my precious big brother – _born together, die together_ – or Boromir, my father in all but blood? Was there a good choice, a right chose, a smart choice? Was there a bad choice, a wrong choice, a stupid choice? Or was it possible for me to cheat Death and save both of my precious ones?**

**_One will live, and the other will die._**

**"I wish…"**

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><p>Those words – though spoken softly – triggered a series of forgotten memories, all lost amidst the nightmares of this world. The dreams, and wishes, and fears of a young woman flashed before my wide, blue eyes, zipping past at the speed of light. Faster, and faster, and faster…and then it all stopped. Time was frozen, and a single memory remained. Only one.<p>

In this particular memory, I was fifteen. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, as it was already late afternoon, and I was riding my horse through the woods. My precious Twin and his gray stallion were not far behind, flying recklessly over old tree stumps and freshly fallen leaves in an effort to keep up with my quick pace. It was the last day of summer. Seth and I were taking that small reprieve for granted, considering that we were to return to school the very next day.

It was a painful thought. I didn't want to go back to that horrid place, and not for the normal reasons that most teenagers avoided high school. No, I did not want to go back because I would once again be subjected to the cruelty of the human race. I would be told, repeatedly, that I was stupid and ugly – a clear waste of space. My brother would receive the same treatment; however, he was strong enough to fight off his attackers. He was capable of kicking, punching, and grappling against the taller, older football players that cornered us near the locker rooms or the chemistry labs.

I was unable to do so because I was weak.

Weak, stupid, and ugly.

_I wish…_

Crimson eyes stared deep into my conflicted heart. "Have you come to a decision as of yet, Child of Manwë?" Death queried with a knowing smile.

"Seth…" I whimpered his name and the name of my guardian soon after, over and over again, like a mantra. "Seth, Boromir…" One would live, and one would die. "Should I choose Seth, or Boromir?"

As if responding to his name, the Gondorian mustered his last remaining bit of strength to grasp my sleeve in a shaking, white hand. I lowered my gaze to his weary, bloodied face. Sad, blue eyes stared at the Man, only to find him shaking under a wave of fatigue. The makeshift tourniquets that Aragorn had crafted around his wounds were beginning to come undone – blood gushed steadily down his chest and over his trembling sides. His time among the living was coming to an end. Boromir was dying.

This was the beginning of the end.

"Sammy, do not…agree…to his terms. This is…a form of trickery…" he insisted with a pained gasp. "…it is hopeless."

Tears trickled down my cheeks, even as I smiled tenderly down at the older male. "Oh, Boromir, there is _always _hope, even in the darkest and most painful of nights."

_And it is his love that shall fill your soul and from it, a song shall be born._

A name – one that had been uttered not long ago – echoed in my mind. _Estel. _It had been directed at the object of my affections, Aragorn, as his blonde friend sought our location in the depths of the screaming forest. Legolas had referred to _him _by that name. _Estel. _I paused for a brief moment, trying to remember why that particular word sounded so familiar. Obviously, it was a term used by the Elves. I knew that the name, Estel, had been given to a person of great importance, and it was meant as a source of protection. And it meant –

"Hope!" I breathed in awe, inhaling to fill my startled lungs with air as it whistled through my parted lips once more. "…it means Hope."

Oh, I really was stupid. A true idiot. It had never occurred to me that the person I was meant to save was already standing at my side – shaking his head at my childish antics, scolding me for my sarcasm, or placing a firm hand on my shoulder so as to keep me within his line of sight. I smiled faintly as I thought back to the last few days, in which we had come to an unspoken agreement; I would stop acting like a child, and he would refrain from reprimanding me so often. It was nice speaking with him as an adult.

And to think that the reason for which I had been given a second chance was to save the love of my life.

Of course, I was not in love with him. Not yet. However, I was certain that the day would come because I was already falling for him. It would come eventually – and more than likely during a time of great difficulty, at that. Love was strange that way. And in spite of my feelings, I would be expected to sacrifice myself for the future King of Gondor in order to aid him on his quest to save the people of Middle Earth.

_And when Hope is lost, your song will save him… _Yes, I was meant to live, but only as a sacrifice. _Your song will save him. _It will save Aragorn. _One love shall be born of memories, one of pain, and yet another of the heart. _But first, I must sacrifice myself.

I would do so without a doubt in my heart, but only after saving my precious ones and ensuring their safety. After all, I was going to save all three of them – Seth, Boromir, _and_ Aragorn. But there was only one person that needed my help at the moment. The time had come for me to save my love born of pain, the man the reminded me of my father. Boromir was dying, and he was unable to fight against the current threat; however, I was capable of taking his place.

I would fight for him, pray for him, and wish for a better ending.

"I wish for a reason to live again," I numbly whispered the words, ignoring the irritated hiss from the dead entity as my magic roared to life. Little pink stars fluttered around my form and I continued, "I wish for a reason to live again, for someone to love, and for that someone to love me back. I wish for a reason –"

"Shut up!" _Slap! _"Just shut up, you pathetic creature!" _Slap! _"I do not appreciate being cheated, do you hear me? I will _not _be cheated!" _Slap. _"Never!" _Slap, slap. _"Again!"

My head snapped to the left at the initial force of his skeletal palm colliding with the soft skin of my left cheek. Five times he struck me in the face, but I did not raise a hand to hold the aching flesh. Instead, I began to cry. I couldn't take it anymore. The pain of my wounds, the fear in my heart, and the pressure of making such a choice – it was all too much for me to bear. Tears trickled down my dirty, broken face and my shoulders shook with the force of my sobs.

_I want my…_

"Hope," I whimpered, sniffling pathetically at bleakness of the situation – I was going to fail.

There was a soft rustling, and then my small, trembling form was shrouded in overwhelming darkness. I shivered, feeling dizzy and disoriented – but incredibly thankful – for the unexpected reprieve. Death could no longer see me because there was something, or someone, standing between the two of us. Someone was protecting me, putting their life on the line for me; this was something that I should have been able to do for him. Aragorn was my protector, but I was _his_ sacrifice. It was my job to save _him_. Not the other way around.

"You will not touch her again," Aragorn said in a very dark, rough tone of voice.

Clearly, he was infuriated – be it at the actions of the dead entity, or my stupidity, I did not yet know. I would probably find out later though, after the day was over and my decision had been made. _One will live, and the other will die._

"Oh, this must be the love born of your heart," Death mused with a hum of consideration, smirking at his apparent confusion. "And yet you are unaware of her feelings, are you not?"

"I do not understand what it is that you allude to; however, it is high time that this nonsense came to an end." Stormy, gray eyes narrowed at the dead entity. Pointing to me, Aragorn growled, "You will not _touch_ her, you will not _taunt _her, and you will _listen_ to her demands."

It was silent for a moment as Death considered the proud, strong male standing before him with the strength of a true leader. His nostrils flared in anger as he stepped closer and placed his face directly in the Ranger's line of sight, daring him to move an inch. The dead creature smiled widely and blood trickled down four long, white fangs. Aragorn did not flinch.

Red eyes flickered doubtfully – once, twice, and then…

"I will do as you have _requested, _Aragorn. If only to ease the pain in her heart so that she might answer me with honest conviction," Death finally consented, although he still appeared hesitant about doing so.

Aragorn crouched down before me, placed a kiss on my forehead, and murmured, "Do as you see fit, little one. I have faith in you."

Slowly, I nodded my thanks at him and raised my tearstained face. "…I cannot choose between the two of them," I admitted timidly in the face of Death. "But I would gladly exchange my life for theirs."

"Ah, but is your life _worth_ anything, my child?" he queried, ignoring the dark scowl that crept across Aragorn's lips: _no taunting._

"I am weak, stupid, and ugly." The words came, unbidden, to my lips, but I continued, "But you and I both know that my life means something, or else I would not have been resurrected."

Death smirked and cheerfully agreed, "Yes, you are weak and ugly…"

_Ouch. _I flinched at the cold, blunt honesty in his words – he didn't beat around the bush now, did he?_ That was definitely a bit of revenge for my earlier comments. _

"Stupid, however, is one word that should never be used to describe one such as you. It appears that you understand the ways of the Valar, and that is a difficult feat in itself."

Momentarily, I forgot myself. "Tell me about it," I snorted derisively. "Damn rat bastard always has to speak in riddles…"

The dead entity paid no attention to my quiet murmurings, unlike the great and powerful Aragorn. I coughed nervously and tried to ignore the fact that the older male was glaring daggers at me. So much for trusting my decisions and having faith in me… Paranoid, old man.

"Just this once, I shall willingly allow you to win, my child," Death continued in a haughty manner, nose lifted in the air as he surveyed my small form.

Something about this unexpected change was making me uneasy. Don't get me wrong! I was thankful for it – immensely so. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but doubt the evil, conniving creature that stood before me in all of his dark and deadly glory. It reminded me of the first time that I met him, the night of my death. Death said nothing as we watched the cleaning crew remove my remains from the black tar of the empty street. His mere _presence,_ however, was enough to give me the chills. And I was already dead at that point.

Yes, we had met under strange circumstances. Not many called upon the power of Death and then immediately cheated it, as well. It was possible that this creature sought revenge for that slight. Or he might even be working towards his own goals, all of which I was currently unaware of; thus, it was safe to say that this might be a hoax, or a trick. ...or a trap.

"Why are you suddenly so willing to spare their lives, Death?" I asked. A large and painful headache was pounding behind my eyes. "You were completely against doing so just moments ago, so why the change in heart?"

He shrugged carelessly, black cloak fluttering around his shoulders. "It is for the best. And this change will certainly please the Valar, as the majority of them wish for you to succeed in your endeavors – no, _our _endeavors."

_The fates of many rest upon your survival. _

Death offered me his hand, quietly and politely asking, "Do we have a deal, Child of Manwë?"

"And what exactly does this deal entail?" I warily inquired. Now, I was unsure of how to approach the topic without angering him.

"I will spare his life, and I will spare the life of your brother, if you agree to my terms," Death elaborated with a small sigh. "You see, I am under a great deal of pressure to collect the dying souls of this world, but there are just so _many _of them now with this damn war…"

"What would you have _me _do about that?" I muttered, barely refraining from rolling my eyes heavenward – a dead entity was angry at the world because he was _overworked! _Oh, the irony.

Slyly, Death smiled in response. "I propose that you grant me a token of your favor, as you are one that has encountered Death..." he purred in my ear, reaching forward to slide a hand over my neck. "...and overcome it."

_I wish…_ My eyes flickered shut in concentration. _I wish for a reason to love again, for someone to love, and for that someone to love me back…_

Blue eyes widened in realization, and I whispered, "…you want my dog tags?" I wrapped a protective hand around the silver chain; it was coated in a thick layer of my blood.

"Indeed!" He nodded and gestured towards the tag with one wagging finger. "That small, seemingly worthless piece of metal can serve as a conduit of Death."

I paused. "You mean to say that it will act as a catalyst for your magic?" I asked, seeking clarification. No fucking way in hell was I going to walk into a trap!

"Yes, my child. You see, it was given to your brother and it remained with him for the remainder of his life. The same metal was given to you after his corpse had been retrieved from the fields of battle," Death explained in a cheerful voice. "Shortly after that, you gave in to your _overwhelming _grief and committed suicide – while wearing the very same emblem of death!"

My chest constricted and I gasped against the pain, noting that I was having difficulty breathing and likening it to a panic attack. Hyperventilation. The only way that I would be able to save my new friend was to give up a piece of an old one. And while it _was _a seemingly worthless sliver of metal, it still had sentimental value, which was irreplaceable. How was I to give up something so precious?

I cringed, thinking to myself: _Selfish bitch. You are going to let him die, all for the sake of a fucking piece of worthless metal? Stupid, selfish bitch…!_

Even so, I felt my gaze drawn to the worn, silver words embedded in the flat piece of metal. I saw the details flash before my eyes – a name, an identification number, a blood type, and the name of a religion – and felt the lines etching themselves in my mind. Everything reminded me of my brother, especially this little keepsake, but I had no reason to risk the life of someone I held dear. Not for a person that willingly left me behind. Not for a broken memory.

That fairytale was from so long ago, once upon a time, the end.

_His name was Seth._

The silver chain exploded in a shower of sparkles as I ripped it away from its perch. I inhaled sharply, instantly feeling the change in the atmosphere around me. My neck was bare; the precious dog tag had rested there for over seven months, and now, it was gone. It was a part of me, just as it had been a part of my brother – my _dead_ brother.

_I __**will **__be my own person. _I vowed, tears streaming down my face. _No longer do I need to live in the shadow of my older brother. _

With a shaking hand, I thrust my most precious treasure at the cackling, dead entity that stood before me with a fanged smile. He immediately swooped over and took it from my grasp, wrapping a skeletal hand around the bloodied tag. And the appendage was so large that it dwarfed the tiny piece of silver metal in its hold. I could no longer see it.

"And, behold," Death crowed triumphantly, "A source of imminent power!"

"You have what you came for, Death, so you had better hold to your end of the bargain." I bit back a sob, but my lips trembled, so I bowed my head to hide the shameful sight. "Please, let him live a long and happy life…"

"Yes, I have accomplished my goal," Death snickered, happily waving the tags in front of my face. "And so I shall spare the life of this creature that you have come to love as a father." His red eyes glittered with mirth. "Pity that your own father _hated _you."

_War stole something from me after all…_

"Deal!" I screamed the word at him, belting it out in an effort to successfully drown out his last words – words that I could never admit to myself. "Just do it already!"

The tail end of a black cloak swept by my side and, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Death descend upon my guardian. I refused to continue watching, however, as the dead entity placed his mouth over Boromir's thick, muscled neck. Even so, I was aware of what was happening: four white fangs were injecting a strange mixture of fresh blood and adrenaline into his bloodstream. It was bad enough that I'd undergone the same transfusion not moments before I was thrust into this world. I did not remember much, but I certainly remembered enough; there was so much blood, and pain beyond measure. It hurt.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Boromir gave a startled cry and fought against the hold of Death. Gray eyes flickered in my direction, brimming with fear. And yet, the frightened male still gave in to the sweet lullaby of sleep. _I'm in love with the darkness. _Boromir was unconscious, but alive. Death smirked down at him and whispered a soft, taunting goodnight, but nothing more was said as the dead entity turned in my direction and bowed his head in thanks. _And the darkness loves me, too._

"Oh, little one," Aragorn breathed, an odd combination of fear and awe lingering in his husky voice. He and the remainder of the splintered Fellowship watched the dead entity depart, heading straight back into the depths of Hell. "…what have you done?"

I smiled bitterly at the older male, raised my chin, and strongly stated, "I do believe that I just made a deal with the Devil."

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

That was very cruel of me to leave you guys with that cliffhanger - and for a month, at that! **I am so, so, so sorry! **T_T

But, I will not give you any excuses. Just know that I will try to update again within the next week or so, and that the story will shift it's focus to finding Sammy's next precious one. ;)

Thank you guys for the awesome reviews, which I will respond to soon. And our new goal is **85 reviews** before I post the next chapter. Later!


	15. Chapter 14:  Afflictions and Affections

~Chapter Fourteen~

Afflictions and Affections

_I Was Told When I Was Young  
>That Anyone Could Change the World.<br>It Wouldn't Come by Power or Strength,  
>But Through the Ones Who Choose to Love.<em>

_Can We Say We Have Lived for More,  
>And Did We Live to Die For…<br>La-La-Love, La-Love_

_Love is Marching to His Heartbeat._

_~Love is Marching,_ by BarlowGirl

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Boromir gave a startled cry and fought against the hold of Death. Gray eyes flickered in my direction, brimming with fear. And yet, the frightened male still gave in to the sweet lullaby of sleep. <em>I'm in love with the darkness. <em>Boromir was unconscious, but alive. Death smirked down at him and whispered a soft, taunting goodnight, but nothing more was said as the dead entity turned in my direction and bowed his head in thanks. _And the darkness loves me, too._**

**"Oh, little one," Aragorn breathed, an odd combination of fear and awe lingering in his husky voice. He and the remainder of the splintered Fellowship watched the dead entity depart, heading straight back into the depths of Hell. "…what have you done?"**

**I smiled bitterly at the older male, raised my chin, and strongly stated, "I do believe that I just made a deal with the Devil."**

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><p>Day upon day seemed to melt into one another. Red, orange, and blue, like the flickering of a flame in the darkness. And yet, we continued to run, each of us seemingly heedless of the time of day – except for me, that is. I was <em>very<em> attentive to how many fucking hours were spent running across tricky, rugged terrain in the dim lighting of early morning, the sweltering heat of afternoon, and the biting cold of late night. If I was given a quarter for every time that I'd tripped during the last few days, I would be a very rich woman. With lots of bruises.

As of this moment, the sky was colored a bland, pale gray, so I could only assume that it was late morning. Or it was about to rain. Squinting against the glare of the sun, I raised my head and glanced up at its progress in the dreary skies. It was currently resting in the eastern half of the sky, which meant – what, exactly? I wasn't certain.

Or, in the infinitesimally wise words of my big brother – "Don't look at me! I'm not a fucking boy scout!"

I bit my lip. We'd been traveling for several days and the closer we got to the Ridemark, the easier it was for him to creep into my thoughts. Memories from our childhood trickled forth like rain. In some of them, we were tending to the cattle; in others, we were doing cartwheels through the fields and dancing to songs on the old radio in the attic. I even recalled something as trivial as eating cereal together in the living room while we watched early morning cartoons – _Pokémon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,_ and _Jackie Chan Adventures. _But each memory was precious, if only because I missed my brother dearly.

_His name was **Seth.**_

The name clawed its way across my brain, scratching and picking at me until my stomach began to ache. It wasn't that I was bored, lonely, or even homesick. No, I was just incredibly anxious. My nerves were completely shot, and I felt as though there were a million ants crawling around in my dirty, torn pants. Ants in the Pants. Oh, how I hated that damn game as a child. There were too many little pieces to keep track of, the instructions were incredibly vague, and it was impossible to get the stupid _ants_ in the fucking _pants!_ And my brother always insisted on taking the color blue, which really pissed me off – blue was _my _favorite color, dammit! My eyes were blue; thus, I deserved that particular color. Duh.

Not to mention the fact that Seth always won. Sometimes, it seemed as though Seth was better than me at everything – at tending to the cattle, at managing the employees, and even at winning board games. In his presence, I was a ghost, a wraith, and a stupid, useless little girl. I was merely a shadow.

I missed my big brother, but I was also finding it hard to face the fact that we were going to be side by side once more – for the entire world to see. To analyze, judge, and compare. And at the end of the day, which one of us would they like more? Seth, or me?

With a sigh, I shook my head clear of such troublesome thoughts and continued running after the remaining members of the broken Fellowship. The others were silent, and nothing appeared to distract them from their goal. I found myself in awe of their strength and endurance as the group of males charged forward. All of them were keeping a steady pace. With the exception of Gimli, that is. He remained quite a distance away from Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas. I wasn't one to talk, however, as I was only a few yards in front of him. Panting, sweating, and clutching at the makeshift splint on my broken arm.

Another bead of sweat trickled down my brow and into my eyes. I cursed, shaking my head in an attempt to clear my vision. Alas, I only succeeded in swinging around my messy bangs and thick, dirty ponytail; the latter now clung to my bare neck like a faux fur scarf. And let me tell you, I really didn't understand the appeal. It itched. Badly.

I fought with my hair and, upon triumphing, glanced up at the sky again. The sun was still moving steadily in the same direction. And it appeared as though the large, bright orb was about midway through its journey across the great expanse of sky. As it were, I assumed that it wasn't going to set anytime soon. I tried my best to approximate the time, but could not for the life of me remember how to do so.

Oh, fuck. I really missed my cell phone. Hell, I would have settled for a simple wristwatch right about now!

My stomach growled loudly in what could only be protest. I patted it sympathetically, whispering to it that we might be getting some sort of sustenance in a few hours or so. After all, it was nearer to noon than I'd originally thought. And, if that were indeed the case, I might actually get to stop and take a breather. I might even get to have a bite to eat!

…and it would be more than likely be that nasty, tasteless Lembas bread again.

But here's the kicker! It was probably going to be much, much worse, as we were stillrunning like our lives depended on it. (Granted, this was true. But I digress…) Aragorn had stopped only briefly, placing his ear to a rock and mysteriously locating the forces of evil that we were tailing. Apparently, their pace had quickened overnight. And this meant that there would be loads more running expected of us on our part. …oh, joy.

But, on the plus side, Aragorn insisted that the Uruk-hai were only a day ahead of us – at the most.

"Come! Hurry, Sammy, Gimli! At last, we are gaining on them!" Legolas cried, trotting off after the other male like an obedient Golden Retriever. Ah, yes – a boy and his dog. See them run.

To my left, Gimli stumbled and gasped, "I'm wasted on cross-country!"

"Ah…" Lips twitching in amusement, I quietly murmured, "Let me guess – your people are natural sprinters, yes?"

"Exactly!" Gimli cried in agreement, shaking his fist. "And we are _very_ dangerous over short distances!" Raising his voice, he called, "Ye hear me, lads? I said, 'We are dangerous over _short_ distances!'"

To himself, he angrily muttered, "I've had enough with all…of this bloody…_running_…!"

I agreed wholeheartedly with him, but said nothing in response to his mumbled complaints, as it would do nothing to alleviate the stress. My words would only make it worse. And it appeared that no one else showed any signs of stopping in the near future, which meant that there weren't going to be any lunch breaks, either. There might not even be a pit stop. Consequentially, there would be no time to catch my breath. Ugh!

_Damn. _I sighed heavily and thought to myself –_ I would __**kill **__for a nice, thick, juicy __cheeseburger right about now._ _And a cold bottle of Pepsi! Oh, sweet Pepsi, how I miss you so… _

Amidst my wistful daydreams of fast food and cold beverages, I stumbled over a jagged rock, and headed face first towards the ground. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the inevitable impact. _Face, meet dirt – again! _But, oddly enough, I never hit the ground. After a moment, I blinked in confusion and chose to stare down at the arms wrapped around my stomach in sudden understanding. Gimli had apparently caught me around the waist and steadied me. We'd been doing that for the last three days, over and over and over again. I would trip, and he would catch me. And vice versa.

Smiling, I turned to face the older male and happily said, "Thanks, Gimli! I really appreciate the help."

"It was my pleasure, lass!" Gimli called, returning my grateful smile with one of his own. It was cheerful, albeit tired. "Although, I have to say that a certain Ranger might've enjoyed it a wee bit more." And then, he winked at me.

I sputtered in disbelief. "What the fuck are you talking about, Gimli?" Caught by surprise, I missed a step and stumbled yet again, before catching myself on a nearby boulder.

The Dwarf smirked up at me. "Oh, come now, lass! Ye honestly mean to tell me that you've not noticed his interest?" Gimli drawled with a thick, raised eyebrow. Clearly, he found my oblivious nature to be quite amusing.

"I have no idea what you are eluding to, good sir," I retorted easily, lifting my nose in the air with a haughty, condescending laugh.

Indeed, _that_ much was true. I hadn't noticed a thing. Granted, my mind was often elsewhere, but I would have noticed his interest. There would have been signs, like a thoughtful expression on his face, or a meaningful glance in my direction. Or some sort of physical contact: a touch, a pat on the shoulder…_something!_ I mean, that type of attention was rather noticeable to others, right?

On that note, Aragorn _did _appear to have a strange fascination with my hair. He was constantly running his hands through it, brushing the loose strands behind my ears, and playfully tugging at the ends of my ponytail. Sometimes, it was as a means of comfort – for both of us, it seemed. And other times, the older male appeared to do so absently, as though he were merely doing it out of habit. Like he was thinking about something else entirely. Surely, that something was not _me_, of all people! After all, there was no way that such a strong, brave man could ever fall in love with someone like me.

I was weak, and ugly, and stupid.

Gimli smiled faintly, probably noticing my inner turmoil. "Ye really are underestimating yer worth." At my startled expression, he shook his head in amusement, and insisted, "Aragorn is rather fond of ye, lass. Believe me."

"Right," I laughed bitterly. "I've been nothing but trouble since the moment that you and the others found me struggling in that accursed mirror."

"Oh, lass…" The Dwarf sighed and made to speak, but I quickly interrupted him.

"No!" I protested. "You all saved me, and I made a point of insulting each and every one of you! You took me in and _cared _for me." I choked on the words, swallowed thickly, and then whispered, "And in return, I was nothing but a mean, selfish bitch! I was cruel, and obnoxious, and –"

"Aye," he agreed readily.

I visibly flinched at the immediate, harsh response. I deserved it; however, I hadn't anticipated that he would be so, well, blunt. Of course, Gimli was not known for his subtly, or for his habit of beating around the bush…

Yeah. He wasn't a very empathetic individual, that one.

"Ye were definitely a thorn in our side, lass. And ye still are at times," Gimli continued, rolling his brown eyes at the mere thought of my antics. He smiled. "But you've also matured quite a bit in such a short span o' time, which is impressive."

"I suppose so…" Hesitantly, I agreed, sensing a trap – he had to know that I would answer in the affirmative. Because I really had made _some_ progress.

Brown eyes glittered with mirth, and Gimli grinned wolfishly, adding, "Oh, yes. And that's not the _only_ thing that our dear Aragorn has noticed about ye, either."

Blushing in embarrassment, I mumbled, "That's impossible. Aragorn has been very nice to me as of late, but that does _not _mean that he has romantic feelings for me." My chest ached at the admission, but I plowed ahead. "…or any feelings towards me at all for that matter…"

_I wish for a reason to live again, for someone to love, and for that someone to love me back._

Yes, that was why I'd finally decided to grow up. To live, and to love. I would forgive – and forget – my past, if only for a chance at a new future with someone that loved me. Gray eyes flickered in my memories, full of warmth and concern – _we will protect you, little one._ I shook my head to clear it of such contradictory thoughts. That was platonic! His feelings for me couldn't be anything above what a person might feel for a family member, or perhaps a friend. Not a lover…

_One love shall be born of the heart. _I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of the wind as it whipped against my flushed cheeks, cooling them. _Hope…_

"He doesn't have romantic feelings for me, Gimli," I firmly repeated my conviction, as though it would reaffirm my beliefs and extinguish the flame of hope that he had rekindled within my heart. "And he never will."

Gimli eyed me warily, as if he were expecting me to start sobbing hysterically. "Yer mistaken on that account, lass," he muttered.

I chose not to answer him. Instead, I slowly closed my eyes and ignored his words. Because I was tired. I was so very, very _tired_ – tired of running, tired of arguing, and tired of hoping that my feelings of love for Aragorn were returned. I was sick and tired of everything.

But we were all tired, so I kept my mouth shut. I did not voice my discomfort, despite the fact that I wanted to inform the rest of the Fellowship that my legs were aching, that my splint was bothering me, and that I was hungry. That could probably be said for all five of us. We were all tired, sore, and hungry. Starving, even! None of us had spoken of the pain, however, because we were going to great lengths to catch up with the Hobbits. I knew that to be true, but it still irked me. After all, this was all being done in vain; we would not meet with Merry and Pippin again until much later. But it was necessary that we continue onwards, and I certainly wasn't going to pointlessly change the plotline.

And speaking of the story –

The others had finally decided to take another short break, and the three of them were standing atop a large, rugged collection of rocks. A discarded shield was leaning against the tallest of the three rocks; Boromir had chosen to take a seat at its base. He placed his chin on a sweaty, gloved fist in order to catch his breath and rest his tired eyes for a time. Based upon the bored expression on his face, Boromir didn't give a care as to where we were, what we were doing, or even if we were ambushed. Legolas, however, held his bow tightly in one hand, as if expecting trouble to emerge from the other side of their rock at any moment. But Aragorn was at peace.

"Rohan," Aragorn breathed, smiling as he surveyed the familiar land with bright, gray eyes.

With that one word, my mood lightened considerably, and a wide grin claimed my dry, cracked lips. In fact, my smile was suddenly radiant. And for the first time in a very long time, I was happy – truly happy – because my search was about to end.

I was finally going to see Seth!

Boromir grumbled and fussed with a buckle on his boot. "Ah, yes. We've finally come to the land of the Horse Lords. Such a pleasant place, this one," the Gondorian murmured, snorting to himself.

I stifled a giggle with my hand, amused, and made my way over to my guardian. Boromir smiled up at me and gestured for me to come closer, patting a bit of rock at his side as an invitation to be seated. Gratefully, I did just that. I plopped down with a heavy sigh, thanking my lucky stars that I could finally take a break. And I certainly deserved it – we all did!

Closing my eyes, I leaned over and rested my head against his shoulder. _Man, I am so freakin' tired… _The older male wrapped a strong arm around my waist, pulling me close and hugging me to his side. He did so carefully, so as not to jostle my broken arm. We sat in companionable silence, calmly staring up at the sky, whilst the others nitpicked and grumbled about the unnatural speed of our enemies.

"Legolas, what can you see at this moment with your Elf eyes?" Aragorn called over the boulder to his friend, watching as the tall blonde stared off into the distance with an uneasy expression on his face.

The Elf was visibly upset. "It appears that the band of Uruk-hai are traveling northeast, and that worries me greatly," he responded with a grimace, blue eyes focused on the distant mountains.

Boromir straightened at his dismal tone of voice, and he warily demanded, "Would you care to explain what it is that bothers you about this piece of information, Master Elf?"

I pursed my lips in a desperate attempt to quell the urge to spit out the answer in his stead; it was not my line to speak. But, damn, it was getting so much harder for me to bite my tongue! Of course, I didn't have all of the answers to their questions, but I could provide a reasonable amount of information, and it would change so much about the story. I was already present in the storyline, and now there was yet another extra character and his actions to consider: Boromir was still alive. Such a drastic change could be for the best, just as easily as it could spell our doom.

"The enemy is bringing the Hobbits into Isengard!" Legolas snapped in response, irritated and unsure of how to proceed; the situation did not appear to be salvageable. "And in Isengard, there is…"

Aragorn clenched his teeth together in anger. Two, gloved hands were wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sheathed sword as he gazed over the expanse of grass, passed the rocks, and into the mountainous distance. The Ranger blinked once, as if taking the time to consider his actions, before finishing his comrade's thought with a barely audible sigh of –

"…Saruman."

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

I am aware that this chapter was a little short, as it was more of a filler than anything else, but it was necessary to the plot. And I did promise you guys a bit of fluff and downtine for the wonderful characters in this story, right? ;)

Now, as always, I'm gonna give you guys a quota! I enjoy talking to you all and hearing your opinions, so I will post the next chapter at **95 reviews!**

And **thank you** to all of you that continue to read, review, and favorite this story! It means the world to me. :D


	16. Chapter 15: Blood, Sweat, and Tears

~Chapter Fifteen~

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

_I Have Walked this Road Before;  
>So Hard to Find Unopened Doors.<br>Lost My Way, But I Have to Stay for a While.  
>I'll Be Searching for More.<em>

_And My Wounds Are Real.  
>I Must Rise From the Sorrow,<br>And Find My Way Out of the Dark._

_~Wounds,_ by Masterplan

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>"The enemy is bringing the Hobbits into Isengard!" Legolas snapped in response, irritated and unsure of how to proceed; the situation did not appear to be salvageable. "And in Isengard, there is…"<strong>

**Aragorn clenched his teeth together in anger. Two, gloved hands were wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sheathed sword as he gazed over the expanse of grass, passed the rocks, and into the mountainous distance. The Ranger blinked once, as if taking the time to consider his actions, before finishing his comrade's thought with a barely audible sigh of –**

**"…Saruman."**

* * *

><p>"Sammy! Hurry up, little one!"<p>

Up ahead, the great and mighty Aragorn was frantically waving his arms in the air, motioning for me to run faster. As though I weren't _already_ trying to do so! I scowled momentarily, cursing his long legs to the fires of Mordor. I'm not ashamed to admit that I also debated stopping and mulishly refusing to move from the spot, just to test his patience. It would be an amusing sight. But, in the end, I merely forced myself to keep up with Gimli and the others, all of whom were at least a dozen yards in front of me.

I pushed myself, all the while thinking: _Faster, faster, faster!_

And with that, the five of us continued to run over the grassy plains and into the territory commonly referred to as the Ridemark, home of the Horse Lords. And Seth! If Oromë was telling the truth about my brother, that is. I was trying to fuel my body and its motions solely with the knowledge that my Twin and I would be reuniting within a few hours; however, it was harder to do than one might think.

The various wounds that I'd suffered whilst trying to save my guardian, Boromir, were beginning to bother me. My scrapes and cuts, _most _of which were crusted over, had never been properly tended to, or even mentioned. That small detail was beginning to make itself known, much to my chagrin. Blood was trickling down my chest, back, and limbs. All of which were tingling oddly at the sensation. I felt numb, as though someone were sliding ice cubes over my entire body.

I found myself slowing down, despite my resolve to catch up to the others. It occurred to me that the small group of males was getting farther and farther away. The four of them were quickly putting distance between us, and my stomach clenched tightly in fear. I did not want to be left behind. Not again. Never again.

_Catch up!_ Ah, Oromë had decided to pay me another visit. _ You have to go faster! _ He doggedly insisted, _Faster, faster, __**faster! **_

The mantra shocked my limbs into motion. My speed increased for a few minutes, but it did not last very long. I was distracted by a sudden wave of fatigue, which crawled over my form like a spider, before settling on my legs and lower back. The beginnings of a headache – and one that threatened to quickly become a migraine – gave way to a strange tickling sensation in between my legs. I faltered. The feeling was heavy, uncomfortable, and altogether too familiar. I recognized it immediately; it was my time of the month.

Oh, fuck.

I continued to run, too shocked to actually stop and check the damage that was being wrought on my pants. I mean, it was impossible! There had to be some universal law that girls weren't allowed to have their periods during such trying times – quests, battles, war, and the like. But it seemed that this was not the case. At the very least, this was not true in _my _case. Blood trickled down my legs, sliding over my thighs and the sides of my knees as it made its descent. I glanced down and noticed that the red substance was not yet noticeable; thankfully, there were no new stains on my pants. It would have been immensely difficult, however, for one to discern the new stains from the old ones, as each and every one of them was red, black, or brown with blood.

"…Sammy?"

The sound of my name did not register. I was far too concerned with the state of my filthy, stained pants (and my impending embarrassment) to care that the others were now even further away. The group that I was traveling with did not include any other females, so there would be no empathy on their part. And the others would undoubtedly be uncomfortable if I were to mention my feminine issues. My eyes darted this way and that, desperately searching for a hiding place. Somewhere to hide and attend to business…

_Yes, I finally found one! _

A large rock was jutting out of the ground, just a little to my right, and I darted over to the relative safety that it provided. With a relieved smile, I dropped my dusty traveling pack to the ground and began searching in its depths for the required materials – a small box of athletic tampons that were magically retrieved from my world by yours truly! And a fresh pair of panties. Ah, yes, these were the essentials for almost any menstruating woman.

I glanced up and found myself laughing – in a somewhat hysterical manner – as my eyes focused on a figure in the distance. A large, overbearing Ranger was quickly making his way over to my hiding spot. And he appeared to be rather angry with me at the moment. The expression on his regal face scared me, so I immediately went about doing my business. I hastily focused on pulling my panties and jeans down to my shaking ankles, before chucking the clothes on the ground. Then, I inserted the tampon in its proper place. The blood staining my legs, however, would have to wait until another time.

"Is there a reason for this unscheduled stop, _milady,_ or are you merely gallivanting through the wilderness at your leisure?" Aragorn inquired sarcastically.

Thankfully, I'd had the time to pull on a fresh pair of cotton panties and yank my broken, torn jeans back up my legs. But the zipper was probably hanging wide open, now that I thought about it. I discreetly glanced down and checked again to make certain that it was properly closed. Yep.

"Um…" I paused, thinking of how to politely phrase my predicament. Only the following quote came to my mind – "'Complications arose, ensued, and were overcome!'" Thus, I spat it out in response to his question.

Aragorn glowered down at me with dark gray eyes. "Would you care to enlighten me in regards to these little _complications_ of yours?" His expression was one of anger; it appeared that the older male was in bit of a sour mood.

To myself, I snorted and glumly thought – _Oh, yes! Discussing my period with the guy that I'm falling in love with is definitely on my list-of-things-to-do this bright and sunny day. How the fuck did you know, Aragorn? _

My reluctant silence did not sit well with the older male. "Little one, I am beginning to lose my patience," he warned in an irritated tone of voice. "Tell me what it is that is ailing you."

I fidgeted nervously, playing with my fingers and mumbling to myself, "Nothing in particular…"

"That is rather hard to believe, Sammy," the Ranger growled, lips twisting into an irritated scowl as he slowly, painstakingly repeated his previous statement. "Now, please – _enlighten_ me!"

"Apparently, I'm bleeding," I finally snapped the admission – it was my time of the month, and I was cranky, dammit!

My words apparently caught him off guard because the older male stiffened in surprise. A pair of worried gray eyes flickered over my form, taking in the state of my tired body and cataloging the various wounds with remorse. The expression on his face shifted from sour exhaustion to one of pain. I immediately regretted mentioning the blood, as it appeared to upset him that I was wounded.

Of course, I'd only been referring to my period, but he had no way of knowing that – not without an explanation on _my_ part. And that wasn't going to happen anytime soon! Not in this century, at least.

"Okay…" I sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you, Aragorn," I quietly muttered the apology, "but I am not feeling very well at the moment. And you aren't making things any better by being so nasty to me."

With a sharp intake of breath, Aragorn lowered his gaze and stared at my stomach in apparent realization. "Are you…?" His lips twitched upwards in amusement as he caught sight of the dark blush staining my cheeks.

_Don't you __**dare**__ say it! _I could tell that he was going to laugh by the way that the skin at the corners of his gray eyes was crinkling. In the safety of my mind, I screamed: _Don't even __**think**__ about it, you crazy old goat! _

But it was all in vain. The Ranger actually had the nerve to grin down at me and laugh, "Ah, so _that_ was the reason for your sudden departure."

"It's not funny, Aragorn!" I wailed, utterly mortified that he'd been able to see through my carefully crafted omissions and to the point of the matter.

It appeared that Aragorn was trying his hardest to bite back his laughter, but he still managed to release a few more chuckles. The sound was muffled by the gloved hand that he held over his mouth; however, one could tell that the older male thought my plight to be hilarious. Humiliated beyond all belief, I ducked my head and hid behind a curtain of blonde hair. Damn him…!

Aragorn loudly coughed into his hand once more, then choked out, "I am…sorry…" Another strained chuckle. "For finding your, er…problem…" He snorted. "…so amusing."

"You are an incredibly _mean_ and immature old man!" Blue eyes glared up at him reproachfully, daring him to begrudge me my insults – he deserved it! "Go burn in Hell, you stupid bastard!"

With a scream of frustration, I turned on heel and began striding away, determined to beat him back to the other members of the Fellowship. His cruel words and laughter were still whistling in my ears like a gust of wind, despite the fact that the sound of my stomping feet should have easily drowned out their echoes. Over and over again, I heard it – the sounds of laughing and jeering as my brother and I scampered through the halls of our high school, trying our best to avoid being caught without our separate pair of pants, both of which had been stolen just moments ago.

I snarled at a speckled rabbit that was nosily peering over the edge of a boulder; it recoiled. It eased my anger to imagine the rabbit as the source of my irritation. In other words, I pretended that it was the evil, obnoxious Aragorn, renowned killer of dignity. Oh, that jerk was _seriously _going to regret picking on me!

"Little one…"

I ignored the softly murmured endearment – until the older male wrapped his arms around my shoulders and drew me backwards, into his arms. My eyes widened with surprise, sensing that this was an unusual bit of contact for him to initiate or permit. After all, Aragorn was generally opposed to touching me, as I was an unmarried female and he was so much older than me. It would be irresponsible for him to do so.

And yet, he was holding me so tightly at this moment that I couldn't move. Not an inch. He refused to release me, despite my protests, all of which were becoming more timid by the moment. It was a comfort to be held in his arms, as though I was something precious, and I relaxed in his grasp. Yes, it was nice and warm. Safe. And I did not want him to let me go.

In response to his actions, I reacted instinctively and made to return the gesture. Turned around and buried my face in his chest, nuzzling at the bit of tan skin that was peeking out from between the folds of his dirty, black tunic. The flesh was warm, despite the breeze that continually beat at our bodies, and I could feel his heart beating steadily beneath my ear. It was thudding in time to the sounds of our breathing. His arms tightened around my shoulders, and I smiled.

Then, I realized that there was something amiss with the skin at the base of his neck. I pulled back and stared blankly at his neckline. _Oh, my freakin' God…! _And I found that my surprise was warranted: the Evenstar – a beautiful, silver pendant supposedly given to him by his lover, Arwen – was not hanging around his neck. Instead of bearing the delicate symbol of her love, his neck was bare.

The implications were clear. Aragorn was not betrothed to Arwen, nor was he attached to any other woman. If Aragorn was interested in me, as everyone else in our group believed, would I be allowed to claim his as my own? I shook my head at the very thought; it was ludicrous. No, I couldn't believe it. Such a thing was almost too much to hope for. And so, I asked after the necklace – where was it?

Aragorn gave me an odd look, one that bordered on amazement. The expression was warranted, as I shouldn't have even been aware of its name, let alone its existence. And I should not have wondered about its location, either. He stepped back and ran a hand through his black hair, seemingly thinking on my reasons for asking that particular question.

"It is with Legolas, as it has been for the last twenty or so years," he slowly responded, as if considering the truth of his words before speaking them aloud.

_That's…impossible! _I thought, stunned. _If that were true, then the fate of this world was changed long before I even set foot in it! _My brow furrowed in confusion, and my stomach clenched. _And Seth couldn't have done such a thing, as he's only been here a few more months than I have…_

"Why do you inquire after its whereabouts?" Aragorn asked. There was a thick frown upon his lips, a sight that was more familiar to me than that of his earlier smile; however, its normality did nothing to ease my worries.

Wary of his reaction, I shrugged and glanced down at my dirty hands, muttering, "I was just curious…"

Gray eyes narrowed at me in apparent suspicion, but he decided to let the matter go. And, as a determined, overprotective member of the male species, Aragorn resumed staring at my bloodied body with concern. He sighed wearily and shook his head, muttering to himself about the fragility of females. I scowled at that last bit, deeming it unnecessary – I was merely trying to keep up with their long legs, dammit!

Aragorn crouched down in front of me, examining my body with a critical eye. "Are you in need of anything for your cycle?"

To which I blushed and stuttered an embarrassed – "N-n-n-no!"

He stepped closer. "Then, at least let me tend to you other wounds, my little warrior," Aragorn murmured softly into my tangled hair. He smiled tenderly at the small, delighted shiver that rippled through my form.

Biting my lip, I shook my head and dutifully said, "No, thanks. That would be inappropriate." All the while thinking that it would be so nice to have his calloused hands on my bare flesh. I shivered again and muttered, "Very, very inappropriate…"

Aragorn scowled lightly at my refusal. "'tis not inappropriate to attend to one of my wounded companions," he insisted and began gently nudging me in the direction of my pack.

"But, Aragorn…" I protested and struggled to escape, but without any notable success. My softly voiced complaints were lost in his mutterings about treating my wounds.

"Where are the herbs that I instructed you to place in your pack?" he briskly inquired, all business as we moved over to the shaded area surrounding my hiding spot. "And do you still carry with you that sewing needle from Lothlórien?"

My old fears came roaring back, and fast. I began to panic, inwardly screaming at my feet to carry me in another direction – a direction that did not include overprotective males, nasty medicinal herbs that would surely sting worse than a poisonous snake bite, or _needles!_

"Oi! Lemme go," I shrieked, horrified. He restrained me with only one hand; in the other, there was a large, pointy needle gripped firmly in between his long fingers. "No! Not the damned needle! Not again!" Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle. "Let_ go_ of me, you crazy Ranger!"

The older male tapped me on the nose in reprimand. "Calm yourself, Samantha," Aragorn scolded gently.

Samantha. Well, that was weird. To hear my name falling from his lips in such a gentle manner was both strange and comforting. The use of my birth name also distracted me into stunned silence, as was his intention. He seized the moment and quickly inserted the small, silver needle into the first of my wounds, a thin, bloody line on my right arm. Both of my legs, my left hand, and my shoulder were also tended to. Lastly, he focused his attention on my face.

"…ow," I mumbled, sniffling as the needle was inserted into my cheek once more.

Aragorn quietly murmured an apology. But he still went about his business, in spite of my (loud) protests. He gently pulled the small needle backwards, away from my face, and tugged on it in order to tighten the string. Then, the wound was tied shut. The older male returned the instrument of doom to my medicine kit and began rummaging through its contents in search of something else. I winced upon sighting the familiar clumps of green, yellow, and white herbs that rested in his large, dirty hand. Calendula flowers. Yay.

Oh, this was going to hurt like a _bitch_…

"Come, little one," Aragorn said, grinning at my uneasiness. Gray eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he cheekily added, "It will not hurt too terribly much."

I crossed my arms over my chest in defiance. "Oh, yeah?" I queried in blatant disbelief, before eyeing his wounds with worry; all of them were rather nasty, too. "In that case, perhaps you should use it to tend to your own wounds first…"

He cupped my chin in his hands and lifted my face to survey his handiwork, teasing, "Oh, what is this? Does the little terror actually care for someone else's wellbeing?" And he dabbed the herbs over the stitched wound.

I jerked away, embarrassed and confused, and made a sorry attempt at hiding my face behind a curtain of blonde hair once more. This time, however, I was not allowed to do so – Aragorn caught my chin in his hand, forcing me to stare straight into his gray eyes. He watched with interest as the blush on my cheeks darkened to an unhealthy shade of dark red. And his lips twisted upwards in a wide, bright smile. The sight of that haughty smirk sent lightning zipping through my body, and I nervously crossed my arms over my chest and clamped my legs together, trying to hide my arousal. The older male raised an eyebrow at the reflex, but said and did nothing more.

I was beginning to suspect that Aragorn had noticed my growing affections; my interest in him was getting a little hard to overlook. Seriously, it was pretty damn embarrassing! And the worst part of the matter was that the older male appeared to find it quite amusing to tease and poke fun at me, simply because I was more flustered than usual. Caught in the act, indeed!

"We should get back to the others, before the lot of them begins to think that we were ambushed or something," I mumbled, in the hopes of getting him to release me.

"As you wish, little one." The Ranger reluctantly withdrew, placing my pack over his own shoulder and walking away with a small smile on his face. "Boromir will be worried, will he not?"

The thought of my guardian brought a happy smile to my face – and then it occurred to me that Boromir would more than likely superglue me to his side for the rest of eternity, if only to ensure my safety. For some strange reason, my guardian was under the impression that Aragorn was going to abandon the war, kidnap me, and force me to bear his children. All sixteen of them.

"'Worried' is a bit of an understatement…" I muttered sourly to myself. And it was at that.

As soon as we managed to catch up to the others, Boromir latched onto my arm and urged me to run at his side. I did so, in spite of my confusion, and looked up at him with curious eyes. We continued to run alongside our companions, but the time was not spent in silence, either. Nope. Boromir had decided to interrogate me. Apparently, he'd noticed my new bandages and stitched wounds immediately. Nothing in regards to my health ever appeared to escape his notice. The older male had been quick to check on the durability of my wrappings and, upon noting their good quality, grudgingly offered Aragorn his thanks for taking care of me.

I bit back a laugh, swallowing my snickers behind a feigned coughing fit. Yeah, Boromir was _really_ taking to the role of overprotective, doting father – he was constantly at my side. It was sweet. But, it was also kinda scary, and a bit stifling, too…

Of course, that was a part of life. Most people were close with at least one other person, be it a friend, family member, or lover. For me, it was the presence of my brother – and _only _my brother – that had kept me from falling over the edge and into the grasp of insanity. I understood the need that forced someone to cling to that one precious person, to keep them within eyesight and out of danger at all costs. But for me to find that in another person, someone that was not Seth…

It was overwhelming, but it made me happy. Through the aid of blood, sweat, and tears, I was finally beginning to expand upon my horizons and accept others into my heart. And that was a miracle in itself.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

I am **so sorry** for the delay! It was impossible for me to actually sit down and write this. (Damn writer's block...)

So, I returned my attention to another story and began editing it. I will hopefully be able to begin updating more frequently in the next month or so, though. :)

I hope that you guys like the fluff between our heroine and her crush. It was about time that the two of them got closer, eh?

P.S. The magic number for this chapter is **109 reviews.** I guess... ;)


	17. Chapter 16:  Mood Swings

~Chapter Sixteen~

Mood Swings

_Never Stop Hoping.  
>Need to Know Where You Are.<br>But One Thing's For Sure…  
>You're Always in My Heart.<em>

_Lost In the Darkness.  
>Tried to Find Your Way Home.<br>I Want to Embrace You,  
>And Never Let You Go.<em>

_Wherever You Are,  
>I Won't Stop Searching.<em>

_~Somewhere,_ by Within Temptation

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Of course, that was a part of life. Most people were close with at least one other person, be it a friend, family member, or lover. For me, it was the presence of my brother – and <em>only <em>my brother – that had kept me from falling over the edge and into the grasp of insanity. I understood the need that forced someone to cling to that one precious person, to keep them within eyesight and out of danger at all costs. But for me to find that in another person, someone that was not Seth…**

**It was overwhelming, but it made me happy. Through the aid of blood, sweat, and tears, I was finally beginning to expand upon my horizons and accept others into my heart. And that was a miracle in itself.**

* * *

><p>Finally, I'd reached one of the more pivotal moments in the series. I was currently suffering through – er, that was to say, <strong>enjoying<strong> – the plotline in the second installment of the famous cinematic trilogy, _The Lord of the Rings_. This particular movie had only just begun, but there were already a number of important scenes happening at this point in time, one right after the other. It was like a chain reaction, in which each and every member of the formerly intact Fellowship acted as a catalyst.

Frodo, Sam, and their deformed companion were traveling to the fiery depths of Mordor, in the hopes of permanently ending the existence of the Ring. The talking bling of doom that rested beneath a mithril shirt was still going to cause them quite a bit of trouble, though, even with the aid of Gollum, the strange creature that resembled a malnourished House Elf. Of course, those magical creatures always appeared to be malnourished, so that might have been a moot point.

But, I digested the story.

I paused for a moment, sluggishly trying to muddle through my thick thoughts, which had been induced by something similar to drugs. _No, that's not right._ _Perhaps it was degraded. Er, that isn't it, either…_

Oh, yes! I digressed!

About a thousand yards ahead of us were the two remaining members of the original group of small travelers, Merry and Pippin. The Uruk-hai were escorting these two young men to a brand new torture facility that had been erected in Isengard; however, that wasn't going to happen – if the old storyline continued on as previously written by the author, that is. Merry and his cousin, Pippin, would manage to escape into the dark depths of Fangorn Forest, and into the helpful branches of the tree people. And I didn't mean the mythological Dryads, either!

Speaking of which, the filthy Uruk-hai had also increased their speed, and the horde of evil minions was now getting further and further away from us. That tidbit of information worried me for quite a while, because it would mean that the story was changing once again, and as a direct result of my stupid meddling, too. Those innocent little creatures would die a horrible death at the hands of our enemies, and it would be my fault. No one else would be to blame.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…!_

I actually flinched at the reminder of those cruel words, all of which had been directed at me during a similar time of worry, pain, and doubt. The memory of confronting the evil, dead entity came back to me in an instant, rushing through my brain at the speed of light. It physically hurt to think that someone else might die in the place of my guardian, but at the same time, it was a bit of a relief. Boromir would still be alive, and he was one of my precious ones.

But, Merry and Pippin were my friends, too. It wasn't right to leave them to that fate, especially when it was my fault that their fates had changed from life to death. They were doomed because of my interference. Thus, it was my duty to save them.

"_Silly creature, you cannot save everyone…"_

"Shut up, Oromë," I muttered angrily, turning my head to the side, as though this might help me in my efforts to pointedly ignore the words that were echoing through my mind. "I'm capable of doing _so_ much more than everyone else thinks, you damn rat bastard."

A warm hand reached up, hesitated, and then wrapped itself within my own, though the former was much larger in size. The other person gently squeezed my hand, before murmuring, "I do not doubt your courage, little one, but there are times that you must ask for our help."

I wanted to ignore this annoying person, too, but that task was muchmore difficult for me to accomplish. This individual had repeatedly placed his trust within me, and he expected me to successfully change the fate of his world, unlike the fickle deity speaking to me in my mind; the latter hated me, and merely thought me to be a naïve idiot. Oromë had always expected me to fail – the rat bastard would probably _always_ expect that of me. However, Aragorn thought me capable of fighting against the horrible destinies that had been placed upon so many innocent people. He was much more supportive of my endeavors in that aspect.

Oh, yes. Aragorn was also carrying me across the plains of the Ridemark. And it was a little hard to ignore someone that was giving you a piggyback ride, especially when that person was a tall, dark, and handsome Ranger, too.

Aragorn exhaled sharply through his nose, seemingly exasperated at the arrival of yet another of my prolonged bouts of silence. Nonetheless, he patiently said, "Sammy, it is most irritating that you always choose to disregard my wisdom during these conversations…"

I had to take that previous statement back – it was _very_ easy to ignore the man that was giving you a piggyback ride, even if he was tall, dark, and handsome. In short, I found it rather easy to overlook that pointed comment, because he was being a royal pain in the ass! No pun intended.

Thus, I chose to ignore his last words. "You know, I think that things have changed quite a bit since the two of us first met," I happily exclaimed. My pink lips twisted upwards into a small, somewhat evil smirk. "I was constantly berated for talking at that point." Then, I darkly added, "The lot of you couldn't _wait_ for me to shut up, and now, you constantly complain about me being quiet!"

The Ranger gritted his teeth in anger, a sound that was quite audible thanks to our (much too) close proximity. He used my full name as a reprimand this time, snapping, "Samantha!"

"I know, Aragorn," I sighed wearily, before deepening my feminine voice and quoting his words verbatim. "'The sarcasm is most unnecessary, little one.'" Another sigh escaped my lips. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"You are still not feeling very well, are you?" Aragorn queried. His dark, gray eyes softened a little bit, and he reached upwards to tug gently at a stray lock of my blonde hair that was drifting over his shoulder.

I'd been about to shrug my shoulders in response to his question, disagreeing with the blunt observation. I had also planned to make a sarcastic, mean, and nasty remark in regards to his stifling and oftentimes overprotective nonsense. Yes, I was a small female with little strength, but that didn't mean that my damn period would prevent me from keeping up with the four of them.

I did need a little bit of help, though, as Aragon had previously mentioned – herbs, warmth, and comfort were the three things that he had prescribed earlier this morning upon hearing my oddly muttered complaints. The former were forcefully shoved down my throat, much to my chagrin, whereas the latter was provided with the piggyback ride. Those damn herbs admittedly caused a rather noticeable – and unfortunate – change in my personality, though. I was defaulting back to my original bitchy self, and my ability to think clearly had been impaired, as well. That was not good. Not at all…

Even so, I was incapable of acting in a cruel manner towards the older male. The two of us had our differences, and we still argued quite often, in spite of my recent display of maturity and my ability to keep my complaints to a minimum. Yes, Aragorn and I were becoming good friends, a fact that had managed to surprise me. His little habit of absently playing with my hair was so sweet, though, that it still rendered me speechless.

I often had difficulty understanding the older male, but this was something that was easily understood. Aragorn was worried about me.

"Not really…" I admitted softly, and with a tired smile that went unnoticed, due to my position on his back. "I will be fine, though. It is our two kidnapped companions that you should be worrying about, Aragorn."

And, there it was again! My tongue had taken to occasionally speaking its words with that odd, blasted accent common to people from this time period. It made me sound much too feminine, like a rich, dainty noblewoman that was more comfortable sewing than climbing up trees and playing baseball. Blech! Yeah, I was still a tomboy, thank you very much…

"I agree with the lady on this matter," Legolas interjected at that point in the conversation. "You should be focusing your attention upon our missing companions, Aragon, as the two of them are undoubtedly in more **pain **than your precious little one."

I barely managed to suppress a flinch at the blunt, harsh words. There was nothing but truth in them. Merry and Pippin were much more important than me – the two of them would manage to distract the Eye of Sauron later in the story, amongst other things. I was merely a hindrance to the plotline. Thus, I didn't bother to contradict his statement, or even attempt to defend myself from the ugly glare that was directed towards me after the words were spoken, like it was my fault that the two of them were captured in the first place.

And it was my fault for not preventing their capture, as it was possible to do so with my helpful knowledge of the events that occurred within this storyline.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

My eyelids fluttered shut in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. I did not want to cry in their presence, because that would be akin to admitting defeat to these four strong men. And then, Legolas would use that as an excuse to further his observations about my obvious worthlessness. I really hated that bastard sometimes, even though he only ever spoke the truth. I'd expected that response from _him_, but I didn't expect the consequential response from his old friend…

Aragorn carefully set my small form down on the grass a few yards ahead of our companions, before offering me a small, apologetic smile. Then, Aragorn turned on his heel, barreled back down his previous path, and began to rant at his friend in fluent streams of Elvish. The quiet, serene language remained beautiful, but there was something dark in the tone of his voice that promised pain to the other person, thusly erasing any bit of serenity that was generally carried within the words. It scared me that the older male was angry, and with one of his best friends, too. The tension between the members of our company was tangible, as it had been for the last few hours. We were losing ground, and none of us really wanted to admit to it, either.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

Dammit. This _was _my fault, but there was nothing to be done, now. The two of them would never allow me to intervene because that would be a blow to their male pride, as a female was not welcome in such **important** conversations. My domain was in the kitchen, whilst preparing dinner, or in the bedroom, tending to – or making – the children. That was my expected niche in this world.

Of course, I wasn't from this world, so…

"Would the two of you shut the fuck up?" I snapped at the two older males in anger, surprised that the two of them actually listened to me this time. My fingers twitched upwards to pinch the bridge of my nose, where the beginnings of a migraine were stirring. "Man, I've got such a headache."

Legolas immediately opened his mouth, taking the opportunity to berate me for my vulgarity and selfishness. I was his favorite target at times such as this; likewise, my sights were often set on him during strenuous moments. We were rivals, much like Legolas and Gimli. The two of us were more accepting of each other now, but neither of us was willing to become friends, either. I suppose that we were too different for that to happen.

Oh, well. I liked having easy access to a punching bag. It made this journey more tolerable.

"Time and time again, you insist that you have changed, and for the better! But, I fail to see this sudden maturity that our companions speak of." He pointedly glared down his long nose at me, haughtily declaring, "You are a disgrace to your people, milady."

"Thank you for the compliment, Prince Long-Legs," I drawled, before rolling my eyes at his royal idiocy. "I shall treasure your kind words forever and ever and ever…"

His thin, pink lips twisted upwards in a dark snarl, and he said, "Oh, I was under the impression that you would take compliments only from your precious big brother, an individual that is more than likely dead, might I add."

I blanched at the mention of my brother in such a state, because it was as though the fucking Elf had somehow managed to read my mind. Seth was so very important to me. I'd been worrying about his health, safety, and happiness for my entire life. And now, I was worried that he might be dead again, even though there had been many assurances in the contrary, given to me by both Oromë, and Death. Their pretty little words might be false. Lies…

_His name was Seth._

Slowly, I stretched my arm backwards, as if reaching for some unknown object in the air behind me. And the next moment, the pale limb was flying through the air, straight toward the perfect face of my intended target, Legolas. My open palm collided with his smooth cheek, and there was a sudden sound of flesh striking upon flesh – _**smack!**_

It was utterly silent for a moment, and then, three simple words were spoken. "I **hate** you…"

Legolas stared at me in shock, aware that those words had never _once_ crossed my lips in their presence, even during the time that the males had banded together and forced me to remain silent for over three long, miserable days. I'd not liked any of them very much then, but this crimson rage of hatred had not burned within my chest, either. Now, I wanted to punch this idiot in his perfect little mouth, and pull at his perfect little ears, and rip the perfectly straight hair from his little blonde head. The stupid, hypocritical bastard deserved so much more than that, too.

"We need to get our asses in gear," I muttered, easily drifting back into the gruff, commanding tone of voice that we used back home, on the ranch. "Otherwise, the enemy will get away with the Hobbits." I began walking away, toward the distant hills that loomed in the distance.

"You will rest upon my back until then, little one," Boromir sternly stated, whilst lifting me into the air and firmly situating me on his back. "There is no need for you to overexert yourself and faint."

I didn't even bother to protest his manhandling, or his chauvinistic comments. It would have done me no good to argue with my protective guardian, seeing as he was ultimately in charge of my wellbeing. Oh, right. It wasn't just my damn period that was a bother to this procession. I was also much too slow, and stupid, and weak to be able to keep up with these burly males. Oromë, Death, and Legolas were all in agreement on that matter, it seemed. Stupid bastards!

Boromir shifted once, adjusting his large shoulders beneath my additional weight, and softly inquired, "Will you sing for me, little one?" His bright, gray eyes were filled with concern, and it appeared as though he were attempting to distract me from my inner turmoil. "I have not heard your beautiful singing voice in many days."

Gratefully, I raised my head to the rising sun and whispered, "Yeah, I can do that…"

I paused to think on which song to choose, and launched into a slow, sad piece. Each word from the lyrics was whispered huskily into the silence, over the angry mutterings of our companions. I was merely attempting to use my own voice to drown out the harsh sounds of their anger, pain, and doubt; thus, I did not expect them to shut up. But the sudden addition of my singing to the commotion actually surprised them into silence. It had been a while since my friends had heard me sing, and this song was notably darker than the one that had originally been sung for their entertainment.

Of course, Hayley Westenra was a singer of classical and folk music, whereas Amy Lee was a gothic metal singer. That was a big difference. This song was more appropriate, however, for the dark tension lingering in the air.

"Never thought that I'd be leaving you today, so alone and wondering why I feel this way," I sang, letting the words tremble in the air. Those dark dramatics had been imparted to me by my favorite music teacher, a gay man with a talent for opera singing.

Legolas turned his attention to his bow, which was held tightly in the grasp of his left hand. The older, more experienced creature was clearly unsettled by the music – his people also had songs of great sadness, but this was an unfamiliar pain to the sheltered prince. The Elf instantly knew that my words were in regards to the older brother that he had claimed to be dead, a person that was more precious to me than my own life. Legolas' siblings were still alive, and his parents loved him, too. There was no basis for comparison for that particular pain.

"So wide the world…" I closed my blue eyes, swallowed the tears burning in my throat, and cried, "Can love remember how to get me home to you, someday?"

Ahead of us, Gimli was staring off into the distance, an irritable scowl darkening the lower half of his face. The Dwarf apparently hated anything that reminded him of his deceased people, which was to be expected. This song was probably one of those things, too. It was not my intention to hurt him, however, and so my words continued drifting through the air as we marched onward.

"So many fears were swimming around and around in my mind," I whispered, resting my head against the strong shoulder of my protective guardian. Then, I raised my head to the skies and called, "Who would have dreamed the secrets we would find?" As if Oromë might actually answer me.

Finally, the stream of musical notes appeared from within my soul, all of them bursting out at once, it seemed. The notes were especially dark this time – most of them were black, silver, or purple in color. None of the strange notes served any purpose this time around, as they had the last time, back in the depths of the forest. Nonetheless, it was comforting to have my familiar magical essence floating in the silence of the early morning, instead of within my chaotic inner turmoil.

This way, I was free of the pain burning in my body.

"I've found a world where love, and dreams, and darkness collide. Maybe this time we can leave our broken world behind." I smiled hopefully as the song came to a soft, thoughtful end. "We'll be together again." The tears did not trickle down my cheeks. "All just a dream in the end…"

_Your song will save him._ Yes, it would. _Save him. _I would make certain of that much, forever and for always. That was the only true purpose for me in this world, after all. Singing was the only thing that set me apart from the others, and it was the only thing that allowed me the chance to save these precious people of mine. _War will not steal something from me again._

"Oh, little one," Boromir sighed, and slowly lifted his blonde head to stare up at the clear, blue skies. "You must really miss your brother…" There was a brief pause, and then – "I will do everything within my power to reunite the two of you, my dear." His gray eyes were alight with determination. "That is my promise to you."

I placed a kiss on the cheek of the older male carrying me along the path. "Thank you so much, Boromir. You're always so very kind to me, though my nature is anything but sweet."

"Hmm…" The older male paused in consideration, and then admitted, "Perhaps that is true at times, but you are generally a thoughtful young woman." He grinned in a rather wolfish manner and added, "Oftentimes, that side of your personality is only directed at a certain **someone,** though…"

My pale skin instantly colored at the insinuation. "That's so not true, Boromir!" I whined in protest, trying to keep my words quiet, lest the others also catch wind of my affections for the future King of Gondor. "I love all of you equally, dammit!"

Boromir shrugged carelessly in response, nodded his head towards the topic of our conversation, and drawled, "Oh, I highly doubt _that, _my dear…" His large, rough hand reached upwards and affectionately ruffled my blonde hair. "We are all precious to you, though, are we not?"

_Each and every single one of you is a dear friend to me, perhaps even Legolas…_ I mused, though the words did not leave the confines of my mind. It would be too embarrassing for me to admit such an attachment to them, and it might jinx us, too.

With a small, content smile, I leaned forward and simply explained, "I'm happy here with you and our companions, even if you _are_ a bunch of crazy, overprotective boneheads."

"Ah, yes…" The Gondorian smiled secretly at something that had apparently occurred to him at that moment, and he quietly whispered, "Do you like spending time with Aragorn?"

"Yes, Boromir, I like spending time with him," I admitted. My blue eyes glowered at the back of his blonde head, though, sensing something amiss with that particular question.

He nodded thoughtfully to himself at my calm response, before glancing at me out of the corner of one stormy eye. "Are you certain that he did nothing inappropriate earlier this afternoon, little one?" Once again, Boromir's gaze flickered towards the love of my heart, and then back to me.

I could feel my left eye twitching faintly with the effort of suppressing the irritation bubbling in my chest. "Yes, Boromir," I sighed in exasperation, as this was probably the first of many nosy questions that he would ask in regards to that interaction between the two of us. "I'm absolutely certain his actions were warranted."

My guardian raised an eyebrow at my benign phrasing, and curiously asked, "Are you implying that you approve of his inappropriate actions, little one?" He smiled innocently at my obvious irritation.

Angrily, I poked a finger into the side of his face, jamming it against his cheekbone. "Oh, fuck that! It wasn't the least bit inappropriate!"

My inner voice happily started screeching in my ear. _Liar, liar – your pants are __**so**__ on fire! I mean, he __**hugged**__ us! And hugs are __**bad**__…_

Boromir opened his mouth to reply to this declaration; however, I interrupted him, insisting that the nature of my answer would not change. He blinked owlishly at me, undeterred by my foul mood – or rather, my apparent mood swings, which were in full force during this particular menstrual cycle, it seemed. Poor Boromir was probably going to bear the brunt of it, too…

Nonetheless, he sagely murmured, "Ah, I see…" This was said in a calm, thoughtful tone of voice, almost as if the meaning of life was hidden in my words and he was reflecting on it.

"What is it that you see, o' omnipotent one?" I demanded, playfully mocking his observation skills, which were sorely lacking at times. Yeah, Boromir tripped almost as often as me.

My guardian gestured towards my hair, the strands of which were mussed. "Aragorn acted upon his affections and made an advance of some sort, the likes of which you eagerly accepted." He smirked at that. "I knew that you would, my dear."

I sputtered indignantly at that particular assessment, but there was no reason for me to deny it, either. Aragorn had indeed made an advance – in his own strange, overprotective way. The fact also remained that the meaning behind his advances were still unclear to me, other than the blunt realization that they were romantic in nature. In fact, I had to admit that the whole concept of romance – and friendship – was still rather new to me. None of this shit made any goddamn sense!

Aragorn was a really secretive person, too. He did not permit many people to understand the workings of his inner mind. And I was rarely one of those people, in part because of my gender and age. I had a feeling that we were speaking more than someone else in our situation might, however, and that made me pretty happy. The older male might actually have romantic feelings for me.

_Dammit! Gimli was right… _I bit back groan. _Now, I sense that my future is overshadowed by possible sexual innuendos on the part of one gruff and perverted Dwarf. _

I mean, honestly! I was staring at the older male right now, and that could only mean that the tension would heighten over time. …right?

"On a side note, you might not want to let him catch you glancing at his backside," Boromir added in deceptively helpful undertone, taking delight in my embarrassment. "That would be rather mortifying, would it not?"

Okay, I should obviously forget that previous thought. It was my guardian that was secretly a pervert, one that warranted copious amounts of duct tape over his mouth. The duct tape might cure his constipation of the brain and diarrhea of the mouth syndrome. Alas, that miracle had yet to be created in this world, so Boromir would have to suffer through that stupidity for the rest of his life. Oh, I missed duct tape so much! Sigh.

"I'm staring at him for a reason, you dolt!" I snapped at him, pinching the shell of his right ear in retaliation; thankfully, he was susceptible to this particular form of punishment, and he yelped in pain. "Now, I'd like to talk to him for a quick second, so let me down, okay?"

Yes, I really was staring at Aragorn, but with good reason. The Ranger had been leading the charge into the Ridemark only a moment before, and the next, he was squatting on his haunches and making strangely constipated faces at the cold, wet dirt. I had a feeling that his skills were a little rusty; or else, he was getting too old to do his job. Yeah, right! That was impossible – the amazingly awesome guy was nigh unstoppable.

I stepped forward after being released from my involuntary piggyback ride, and made my way over to the older male, curiously asking, "What are you doing…?"

As expected, Aragorn didn't answer me. "…hmm…"

With a raised eyebrow, I peered over his shoulder at the very same dirt that his gray eyes were focused so intently upon. It dawned upon me then that this was one of my favorite parts of the movie, a scene during which a rather famous group of horsemen came galloping over the plains, their banners flapping in the wind. Aragorn said nothing about any upcoming visitors, though. I assumed that this was yet another side effect of my presence – or that of my guardian. At this point, it might have even been due to the presence of my brother, Seth!

After a moment of indecision, I tapped the older male on the shoulder and gestured towards the horizon. "I hate to be a bother, Aragorn, but there appears to be a rather large company of soldiers heading this way…"

Aragorn immediately leapt up and squinted in the direction that my finger was now pointing. He wasted no time in grabbing me under the armpits, lifting me into the air, and almost shoving me behind an alcove of rocks, the tallest of which was over three times my height. I hissed up at the Ranger in anger, wanting to screech at him for allowing everyone within our group to manhandle me. Gimli slapped a grimy hand over my mouth to silence the sound, though. The sweaty glove tasted like pork, and it made me want to vomit. I promptly closed my gaping mouth against the putrid taste.

Then, I heard it…

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**Like I said, "Damn writer's block!" **

Nothing much to say at this point, other than...

It occurred to me that the consequences the Valar had in mind for her meddling might make an entrance right about now. Mwahahaha!

So, I ask you, "What has happened to Seth?" Please answer in a review, and tell me if you think it will affect his decision to go with them, or not. I'd like to see, um, about **126 reviews!** Yep... :D


	18. Chapter 17:  Consequences

~Chapter Seventeen~

Consequences

_These Are the Last Words  
>I'm Ever Gonna Get to Say to You.<em>

_And No Matter What Life Pulls You Through,  
>You've Got What it Takes to Make it Through.<br>And if I Was You, I'd Get On My Knees and Pray,  
>Thank God In the Morning for Another Day.<em>

_Life is More Than Just the Games You're Playing._

_~Last Words,_ by Thousand Foot Krutch

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Aragorn immediately leapt up and squinted in the direction that my finger was now pointing. He wasted no time in grabbing me under the armpits, lifting me into the air, and almost shoving me behind an alcove of rocks, the tallest of which was over three times my height. I hissed up at the Ranger in anger, wanting to screech at him for allowing everyone within our group to manhandle me. Gimli slapped a grimy hand over my mouth to silence the sound, though. The sweaty glove tasted like pork, and it made me want to vomit. I promptly closed my gaping mouth against the putrid taste.<strong>

**Then, I heard it…**

* * *

><p>There was a sudden thunderous rush of countless hooves beating upon the ground. It was an amazing sound, and it made me think back to the ranch, a place that was brimming with over three dozen horses at the time of my death. The sound of hooves rushing over the hard, rocky ground was admittedly rather loud, but it was a familiar sound, and the likes of which made me want to cry. I was so overwhelmingly homesick for a brief moment that my stomach began to ache with nervous tension. Thankfully, I was also aware that this was my home now, and that it would be for a very, very long time.<p>

Yeah. I would probably live in this world for many years – unless my body was killed via horse stampede, that is. I could only pray that this didn't happen, though, because the Valar would be **pissed** that such a simple thing had killed me. Then again, I also had a nasty habit of dying after being run over by large modes of transportation…

First, there was the truck, and now, there was a herd of horses threatening to squish me to death!

Aragorn realized at that moment that these were honorable men, and not bandits or enemies. He stepped out from beneath the shelter of the large rock and called, "Riders of Rohan! What news can you offer of the Ridemark?"

Their leader immediately lifted his weapon into the air and made a motion for the company to turn around, facing the person that had addressed them. "Turn and circle, then…halt!"

Oh, joy. I knew exactly what their leader meant by those cryptic orders!

I watched with wide eyes as the others joined Aragorn, but unsure if it was safe for me, an unmarried female, to do so. The moment of truth was finally upon me, and yet, my body was paralyzed with cold fear. It might not be a very good idea for me to be surrounded by such a large group of Men, after all. I was often treated like an equal amongst the rankings of my four companions – these males, however, might not see me as anything other than an available form of release.

Of course, Lord Eomer was more than likely an honorable person, as were his men. The fact of the matter remained, however, that he and his men had been banished for their honorable ways. I doubted that the company would feel too terribly guilty at the moment for harming someone else, seeing as they had been wronged, in spite of their loyalty. The Riders of Rohan were now a questionable group of people, and these strong warriors were essentially rogues.

Lord Eomer angled his gray horse towards my wary companions. "I find myself wondering about the sort of business that brings an Elf, a Dwarf, and two Men to the Ridemark…" And now, I could see that my friends were effectively trapped within a circle of these unfamiliar males.

I was about to join the four of them within the circle, having finally gathered enough courage to do so, but my guardian discreetly motioned with one hand for me to remain hidden beneath the gray rocks. It wasn't discreet enough, though, as it did not appear to fool the leader of the Riders into thinking that the gesture was innocent in nature. Instead, Lord Eomer turned his attention to me and motioned for a member of his company to pull my trembling form into the inner circle.

"I stand corrected, my friends," Lord Eomer drawled, running a gloved hand along the blade of his sword. "It appears that there is a young female amongst their numbers, as well…"

His men laughed and jeered lightly at this particular comment, the sounds of which only served to confirm my earlier suspicions – these men were not as honorable as one might have expected them to be. The Riders of Rohan had fallen from their pedestal of respect. None of them were too happy with their current situation, either. Their lowly status of exile was definitely one of disgrace and cruel humiliation, and these men wanted their honor back.

My brother would not be one of the males that deemed it necessary to go on a quest for revenge, though. In fact, Seth would be disgusted with me once the details of my story reached his ears. I was still of the firm belief that he could keep the members of this company – his fellow soldiers – from harming me. H was my first true protector. Thus, I had to admit that my only question at that point was not it regards to their honor, but rather…

_Where is my precious big brother, Seth?_

The person that had picked me up began to roughly escort me towards the others, thusly ripping me from my preoccupied thoughts. He promptly shoved me in the direction of my companions, whilst tauntingly running his dirty fingers through a few strands of my blonde hair at the same time. It made my scalp itch to think that there was now an additional source of dirt resting amongst the locks of my filthy hair. Ugh.

One of his fellow soldiers thought it acceptable to run a finger down my spine as we made our way by his horse, whereas another of their numbers found it amusing to pinch a bit of flesh at my exposed side, in a spot where the cloth of my green tunic had been torn away by a wayward branch. Their ministrations were strange, scary, and most assuredly unwanted.

Still, I felt that this situation was altogether too familiar. These coarse males reminded me of a group of cruel teenage boys that had constantly harassed my brother and me during our high school years. I'd wanted absolutely **nothing **to do with the opposite sex at that point. To be honest, I hadn't even really developed an interest in boys, dating, and sex until _after _my high school graduation. That might seem strange to some people in my world, but there was no point in me having a crush on anyone at my school. I was an outcast, and outcasts did not have feelings for anyone.

Aragorn was actually my very first crush. He was also the love born of my heart, and it served to reason that my feelings for the older male would only grow with time. I was falling in love with him; it would be a privilege to have his love, and his touch. On the other hand, the touch of these Men actually managed to repulse me. That was a difficult feat to accomplish, too, considering that the exterior of my body was practically composed of only three elements at this point – blood, sweat, and dirt.

The soldier grinned down at me, raised a single brown eyebrow in amusement, and said, "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" He patted my cheek with a hand, one that was coldly encased in metal armor.

I had to admit that my initial reaction to this unwanted attention would normally have included screaming at them in anger, punching this idiot in the nose, and engaging their leader in a battle of wits. My sarcasm was a fearsome talent to behold; it might even have emotionally scarred them for the rest of their miserable lives, too. At the very least, it would have given the sexist soldiers a good reason to fear those of my gender. I was going to be here for a while, after all, and the issues regarding gender inequality would certainly to hinder my freedom.

I didn't want to wait for Eowyn, either. She would pave the way for the women of this world; however, it would take a while to do so, and to meekly stand aside in that situation would bruise my tender ego. Yes, I might have developed a (very embarrassing) tendency to cling to others and seek their comfort, but it wasn't exactly my style to follow in the footsteps of another person. I was much too stubborn for that. I'd always been a bit of a firecracker, and there were many times that my temper got the better of me. I was also willing to admit it was a very short temper, as my recently flabbergasted companions had witnessed only minutes ago. It surprised me that there were still a number of crude actions within my arsenal capable of shocking these older, experienced, and more respectable males.

_Those guys should __**expect**__ this kind of bad behavior from me by now! _I thought, barely resisting the urge to heave a sigh of immense frustration. _I'm not a little angel, either, unless the fallen ones count…_

It hurt to admit it, even to myself, but I'd given them ample evidence of my immaturity – and in the form of many heartless actions, too. I mean, seriously! Boromir was generally the unwilling subject in a great many of my perverted, cruel jokes. And I'd literally stabbed the hand that fed me back in Lothlórien; in fact, Aragorn often used that one incident as a _humorous _reference to my horrid table manners. Gimli had also paid the price for my repulsive behavior. He was now very careful to keep his hair, mustache, and beard away from my twitching fingers, the likes of which often had a mind of their own.

I bowed my blonde head in shame at the memories of my cruelty. Yes, I owed them all a sincere apology.

This latest crime was an even greater offense than the previous ones, though. I honestly wasn't even certain if a simple apology would suffice to make amends between the two of us. Legolas might command me to beg for his forgiveness whilst on my hands and knees. I would probably be forced to kiss his shiny leather boots, too. And I might actually subject myself to those very demeaning commands in order to clear my conscience – it hadn't been very nice of me to bitch slap one of my trusted traveling companions.

Yes, Legolas was generally a great and almighty pain in the ass, but that didn't mean he deserved to be subjected to such embarrassment. There was still a red handprint tattooed over his delicate face, and it was probably obvious to everyone present that the flaw on his skin was feminine in origin. Legolas was also a rather vain creature, and, sadly enough, he had every reason in this world for that vanity, too. He was actually quite handsome. It was a testament to his ancient race – and his ego – that he was able to stand proudly before a bunch of strangers with such an embarrassing deformity on his previously flawless skin.

My companions were probably expecting me to maim my unsuspecting captor, as well. And I could not contradict their lack of faith in my ability to act passively, either, seeing as it was now a normal occurrence for me to physically attack the people within our group that managed to piss me off. That proved that my reactions were anything **but** passive.

On the other hand, I was aware that there was also a time to mind my manners, keep my big mouth shut, and focus my gaze on the ground. The silent treatment was pretty passive, too. I hated acting like a docile little housewife, though – it was a very humiliating and oftentimes humbling experience that only served to infuriate me. But the silent treatment often yielded better results than the obvious alternative, which involved loudly cursing at the enemy and throwing a temper tantrum. Like a child.

Now, I didn't know whether it would be best to cry like a scared little girl, or scream at them to release me, or run away towards the distant hills in the hopes of finding some sort of refuge behind a boulder.

_Please, Oromë! _I bit my lower lip in a pathetic attempt to hide the cold fear that was practically crawling its way down my spine. _This can't be one of those consequences that you spoke of last time. That would be much too cruel, even for you!_

"What ails you, little miss?" The soldier jostled my broken arm, but he did not tear any of the stitches under the wrappings; in fact, he was rather gentle with me. "Are you too frightened to open your pretty little mouth and speak your name to us?" His laughter was more teasing than anything else, though.

Another soldier raised his spear to the skies in laughter, and he darkly called, "Aye! We would **love **to hear the likes of your beautiful voice!" The blonde male snickered at the overdramatic cadence to his own words, and it was suddenly clear that _this_ one was not as nice as his friend.

The third soldier was even bolder than the last man, and rather crude, too. "Perhaps that dainty little mouth prefers to sing for other reasons, eh?" he quipped, rudely implying that there was a perverted reason for my being with my companions. Nice…

Boromir immediately ordered them to cease their taunts, barking, "You will command your Men to keep their hands to themselves, Lord Eomer." His stormy gray eyes were now black with anger, and he quietly added, "Or else, the same effect will be achieved with the tip of my blade."

"As you wish, Lord Boromir," he solemnly stated, and with a nod of his head, the younger man gestured for his companions to release me. "Let it be known that this has been done as an act of kindness, due to the fact that our people were once allies."

The Gondorian bowed his head in appreciation. "I humbly thank you for treating my young ward with the respect that she deserves, my Lord," he murmured, before nodding pointedly in my direction.

Apparently, I was more oblivious than normal – the majority of the dark magical notes that were surrounding my small form might have disappeared, but several still clung to my hair, arms, and feet. My limbs in particular were thinly veiled by the magical notes, almost as though they were serving as a protective barrier of sorts. This assumption was more than likely incorrect, though, because it was much too good for it to be true. I was not a primary concern in this story. Thus, the Valar would not deem it necessary to grant me the ability to protect myself and others.

My strong companions were more than capable of fending for themselves, it seemed. Even now, Aragorn was speaking with a few of the soldiers about various states of affairs within Rohan, Gondor, and the Ridemark. He did not mention Mordor. And I didn't blame him for that discretion, either…

There was a startled whisper crawling through the remainder of the soldiers, however, and it appeared as though this type of magic was actually familiar to them. The musical notes seemed to maintain their attention. I could only surmise that someone else here had this power, and that this person was from my world. That individual must have been their presence at one point or another, even if only for a little while. Otherwise, I doubt that these wary soldiers would have overlooked my strange magic with such blatant carelessness. These were dangerous times, and this company could not afford to underestimate their opponent, even if she _was_ young woman – and one covered in dirt, blood, and cuts, too.

I was fairly certain that my missing friends would not have garnered such special attention from these soldiers, though, because of their smaller stature. Hobbits were much harder to spot at a distance. Merry and Pippin were admittedly rather noisy, rambunctious, and very capable of catching the attention of others. But this was a time of war, and everything was obscenely loud during such a time of violence.

It scared me that the two of them were away from the protection of our companions.

_Oromë, I'm a little disrespectful of you at times, but we both know that you're really powerful. _I allowed my blue eyes to drift close for a moment in thought, and ultimately bowed my head to the ground in prayer. _You should be able to protect the Hobbits, right?_

The holy entity didn't answer me this time, and my heart dropped down to my shoes, both of which were riddled with holes. I had a very bad feeling about the upcoming days, too. The pessimist within me was stubbornly forecasting rain, even though my knowledge of this story indicated that we would have some nice weather, all things considered.

…_Oromë? _

Eomer stared at me in silence for a brief moment, before tilting his blonde head to the side in consideration of my strangely meek actions. He gracefully removed himself from the saddle on his horse – a large, gray stallion that had several white markings painted across its soft coat – and meandered towards the curious members of the Fellowship. His gaze caught mine, trapping me within those hazel depths. I firmly stood my ground, in spite of the fact that the older male was clearly staring down at me with something akin to suspicion in his narrowed brown eyes.

After sensing my hesitation, Lord Eomer swept his arm across his broad chest, bowing deeply at the waist as he did so. He clarified, "I've a few questions to ask you, milady, and your honesty would be most appreciated, as well."

I swallowed nervously in an attempt to silence the river of questions that had inevitably begun to trickle over my chapped lips. There was a moment of silence, and then…

"Will you allow me to share with you the details of my last journey?"

I hesitantly nodded to the young man in the affirmative, signaling that this was an acceptable request, albeit a strange one. That was the only response that my frazzled brain could formulate at the moment, anyway. Of course, there were still a number of questions lingering in my mind; however, all of those would assuredly ruin any semblance of polite conversation between the two of us. It would be more considerate of me to smile sweetly, bow my head, and allow this guy to take the charge of the conversation, rather than badgering him with incredibly stupid questions about my other half.

_Where is my precious big brother, Seth?_

A pained expression crawled across his dirty face, before settling into one of regret. "Seth was injured in the frantic search for my cousin," Eomer explained, gesturing to his company with a wide arc of his arm. "Théodred had yet to return from the battlefield, and we were worried for his safety."

Apparently, I'd managed to bypass the restrictions of my original plan without so much as a thought, and that damn question had slipped through my lips without my knowledge. This was just great! I was trying to be a respectful and mature adult in this situation. Now, I had to worry about my foul language slipping through the cracks, as well.

Oh, man. Aragorn was gonna freakin' **kill** me if that happened! And Oromë would probably thank him profusely ending my miserable existence, too…

"I was wallowing in my grief, and thusly unable to comprehend my dark surroundings." The young man grimaced, as though it were his fault for the resulting wounds inflicted upon my brother's person, and sadly sighed, "Seth bravely leapt in front of me at the last moment…"

"No, that can't be true…" I whispered, horrified, and my lips began to tremble as those two sentences sank into my brain, which was now officially numb with terror. "No, no, no, _no_…!"

_One will live, and one will die. _

I was so frightened at that moment that the world began to tilt on its very axis, and it wavered for a quick moment, before spinning dangerously to the left. The vivid world around me flickered then, and the bright colors began to fade into shades of black, and white, and gray. Several of the soldiers stared down at me with pity etched upon their lined faces. Their whispers echoed in my ears, like the sound of an old hairdryer whirring beside my head. I prayed that this white noise would mercifully choose to consume me – or else, my broken heart might very well succeed in beating it to the punch.

_Born together, die together. _This was not supposed to happen to us. I'd been given these new powers to save people, including my big brother. _One love shall be born of memories, one of pain, and yet another of the heart._ Seth was my love born of memories; thus, he was meant to survive this war. _War stole something from me. _That damn bastard was not supposed to take his life again, not after the two of us came to that agreement, back in the forest. _Death is here…!_

Seth was meant to travel across these lands for many years, living his life as a brave, respectable soldier. He would fight against the thick hordes of bloodthirsty monsters stalking over these plains, consequentially saving the lives of many innocent people. And one day, my brother would be revered amongst the people of this world as a hero.

_He was a recipient of the Purple Heart._

He would fall in love with a beautiful young woman, a kind and caring person, and the two of them would be married to one another soon after that. She would love my brother more than anything else in the whole world, with the exception of their healthy children. He would hold my children, too, cradling them gently in his strong, protective arms. My brother would never allow them to get hurt or abused by others, as we once were. The two of us would live with my husband, his wife, and our brood of children, all of whom would all live to a ripe old age.

Then, Seth and I would enjoy an era of peace, something that the two of us had fought for with our own two hands.

I mean, that was _supposed_ to be the reality of our bright future together, right? The Valar had granted each of us a second chance, one that entitled us to a much better life, in a world far away from the painful memories of our old childhood home. We were told that no one would hurt either of us like that ever again, and the two of us would finally be **happy. **

_His name was Seth…_

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><p><em>***<em>Author's Note***

I am cackling evilly at the creation of yet another brilliant cliffhanger! I'm so damn cruel that it **hurts,** right? XD

**Please read and review! ** Let me know whether or not you think that her brother is really **dead**...

P.S. Yes, I edited the ending of last chapter and added it to this one. I'm still expecting about **138 reviews,** though, my friends! ;)


	19. Chapter 18:  Love Will Always Prevail

~Chapter Eighteen~

Love Will Always Prevail

_It's Too Late to Change Your Mind,  
>Even Though This Fragile World is Tearing Apart at the Seams.<br>We Can't Wash These Sins Away.  
>This Sinking Feeling Everyday:<br>I'm Waking Up in Someone Else's Life._

_Is It So Hard For You?  
>'Cause It's So Hard For Me<br>To Believe That What We Dreamed Could Ever Come to Life Again…_

_I Only Have Myself to Blame for it All._

_~Erase This, _by Evanescence

Disclaimer: Me Now Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Then, Seth and I would enjoy an era of peace, something that the two of us had fought for with our own two hands.<strong>

**I mean, that was _supposed_ to be the reality of our bright future together, right? The Valar had granted each of us a second chance, one that entitled us to a much better life, in a world far away from the painful memories of our old childhood home. We were told that no one would hurt either of us like that ever again, and the two of us would finally be _happy._ **

**_His name was Seth…_**

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><p>My entire world was finally beginning to disintegrate, ultimately falling apart with a few simple words from the mouth of a stranger. It was like watching the charred remains of a burnt piece of paper drifting away on an unexpected gust of the wind. I desperately wanted to chase after that paper, catch in within the open palms of my grasping hands, and hold it against the side of my tearstained face. Those tears might even succeed in washing away the sins of our past. And then, Seth and I could be reborn again from the ashes of that tiny piece of paper.<p>

Alas, I'd already been offered a second chance by the Valar. I had greedily given in to impulse and accepted their proposal, too, thinking that all of this pain would just go away. And yet, that decision had only resulted in more – more blood, more tears, more pain, and more **death.** So much more…

I inhaled sharply through my nose, allowing my head to tilt backwards, towards the comforting warmth of the golden sunshine. The sun was still shining, even though the world had apparently ended. It was over.

Oh, right.

Myworld was seemingly the only one that had ended – for the second time, and over the same person, as well. This was my punishment for succumbing to that selfish desire to live again. I also wanted to selfishly pretend that this person had never even_ met_ my brother, and that this was all just another elaborate hoax. This was merely some evil scheme concocted by the fickle gods to further motivate me into sacrificing myself for the greater good of this world, it people, and their future.

But that wasn't true, now, was it…?

Lord Eomer bowed before me once more, but this time, it was a formal gesture and an indication that this was going to be bad news. "I am truly sorry for your loss, Lady Sammy," he whispered.

Oh, God. This stranger had just called me by preferred nickname instead of the one given to me at birth, proving once again that this was not a game, or a hoax. There was only one other person that regularly called me by that name, and he wasn't even from this world.

"_Seth bravely leapt in front of me at the last moment…"_

Eomer hesitated for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words in this instance. I didn't begrudge him that awkward silence, though, seeing as there was nothing that he could possibly say to ease the pain churning in my heart. I'd chosen to ignore the warnings from the Valar. Now, Seth was dead, and it was my fault.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…!_

A noisy gasp escaped the confines of my raw throat, bursting into the air with the subtle grace of a foghorn. It echoed in the silence, drawing the attention of those that had not even been paying our conversation any mind; apparently, the death of a fellow comrade wasn't cause enough for their concern. Seth hadn't meant very much to these soldiers, even though that he had bravely fought with them to protect a world that was not even his own. He'd willingly sacrificed himself to save their leader, and now, this was his reward: cruelty, ignorance, and death.

Of course, Seth had been wounded in the line of duty before, and quite often at that. I'd received _dozens_ of letters in the mail regarding his recent admission into one of the military hospitals for some reason or another – a broken leg, a cracked rib, a punctured lung, and even a black eye. It became a normal occurrence for me to receive one of these letters; in fact, there was probably a weekly notification regarding some stupid incident. My older brother did not appear to have a single selfish bone in his body. He didn't come equipped with that basic desire to fight for his own survival, either, which was something that most other people actually possessed. That stupid idiot had always preferred to fight for the survival of **others.**

My brother had already died because of that selfless tendency, too.

"_Seth Ray Steel died protecting one of our own, and he eliminated an enemy platoon. You would have been very proud of him, ma'am." _No, I was** not** proud of him, you stupid bastard. _"He's going to be the recipient of a Purple Heart." _I didn't **care** that my brother was a hero, **or** that he was going to be rewarded for it. _"I hope…" _Seth wasdead, so there was no reason for me to hope for **anything.** _"…that you can forgive yourself for this one day." _That was impossible.

I placed a trembling hand over my mouth to stifle the next sob, a dreadful sound that was quickly trying to follow its noisy predecessor. _Damn you stupid soldiers for being such heartless fiends! God, I hate you! _Those words were screamed into the safety of my own mind and through the chaos that was clouding my vision with ribbons of red anger. _I hope each and every single one of you dies a horrible, and miserable, and painful death!_

Everyone within the larger company of males exchanged wary looks, obviously sensing from my red cheeks that this was the beginning of a set of feminine hysterics. A soldier – the one that had rudely suggested my status amongst my companions to be that of resident whore – turned his head to the side and sourly muttered, "For the love of the Valar! I wish that we were far away from this debacle…"

_I…__**hate**__…you…!_

My eyes watered with the strain of keeping those horrid words to myself. But, I'd learned my lesson earlier this morning, during that altercation with Legolas. I might truly dislike the vain creature at times, but telling another person that you hated them was actually very painful – for both parties. Legolas was avoiding me with fierce determination, which only served to worsen the guilt that was threatening to tear me asunder.

Apparently, I'd been diagnosed with the Black Plague. Yay…!

Yes, I was still an immature brat, and the aforementioned sarcastic thought served as an obvious piece of evidence. But I absolutely_ refused_ to change every single aspect of my personality for these people. There wasn't a single person in this world that could effectively erase the painful memories of my childhood from the dusty corners of my mind – those memories served as the basic building blocks for my horrible personality. And it would be very difficult for anyone to enter that locked building without first finding another entrance. Someone would probably have to destroy the red bricks surrounding that sanctuary, one by one, before catching even a glimpse inside of my mind, heart, and soul.

Nevertheless, Aragorn, Boromir, and the others were doing their best to force their way through that barrier and into my heart. Those stubborn males were actually succeeding, too! Feelings of pain, doubt, guilt, and grief had collected in the pit of my stomach over the years, but now, that thick knot was slowly beginning to dissolve. I was evolving into another person, one that might actually manage to live the rest of her life surrounded by friends and family.

Seth would be very proud of me, too, because the changes were actually good ones – at the beginning of this journey, I would have been deliriously happy about causing such pain for the Elf. I'd wanted to alienate my nemesis, as he had done to me on numerous occasions, and those cruel words had successfully achieved that goal. Legolas hadn't bothered me in hours.

I'd also anticipated reveling in the sweet satisfaction of revenge, but that sensation of victory never came. Instead, I could only feel this horrible remorse burning deep within my lungs. Like fire and brimstone.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, praying to the skies that this world would soon make sense. "God, I am so very _sorry…_"

Eomer was staring down at me with this absurdly kind expression on his face, as though he could honestly relate to my situation. I didn't want to believe that there was anyone other than myself suffering in this world, but that was an incredibly immature, naïve, and selfish way of thinking. His words were sincere, and the immeasurable pain burning within the depths of his hazel eyes was a strong indication that he really didunderstand the feeling of such heartbreak. This male had experienced it before, since he had been forced from his homeland…and into exile, too.

I was ashamed to admit that the feeling pulsating in my stomach right then was admittedly one of excitement. I'd finally met another kindred spirit in this lonely world! Granted, I'd wished for another life, oftentimes begging for an escape, whereas _his _banishment had been completely involuntary. This young man still suffered from the same severe bouts of homesickness that continued to plague me, however, and he probably missed his little sister, too.

I subconsciously wet my chapped lips with the tip of my tongue and cautiously said, "Lord Eomer, I realize that this is probably a very stupid question –"

Gimli snorted quietly in response to my hesitant words. "'tis not right for ye to question him, lass, especially since he knew yer brother so well," he interrupted, pointing out that this person was just as close to Seth, if not more so.

"I understand that completely, Gimli! But Seth is my _brother!_" I snapped, irritated, and with a deep scowl on my face. The soldier that had died for this young nobleman was my protector, my brother, and my Twin. Seth was **mine!**

"Ye wish to ask him if yer brother is still alive, do ye not?" Gimli rested the bulk of his weight on the handle of his large axe, staring down at the silver weapon in thought. "That'll only bring ye more heartache." The Dwarf paused in consideration. "Both of ye…"

I flinched at the truth in words, recognizing that this male was almost as analytical of my actions as our nemesis, Legolas. The two of them were always brutally honest in their advice, criticism, and reprimands. It was even worse than listening to my guardian ramble about the manners that would be expected of me in Gondor. Boromir had this incredibly **sick** fascination with drilling proper etiquette and the rules of high society into my head during our spare time; thankfully, it was a very rare luxury for us to have a moment of peace on this journey.

Eomer harshly inquired, "Do you doubt the truth of my words, Lady Sammy?" His hazel eyes were narrowed down at me in speculation and – if that dark expression on his face was any indication – anger.

"No, sir," I replied, shaking my head in the negative to support that claim. I'd responded to his anger with an ease that came from years of dealing with the unruly workers on our ranch. "I am merely seeking a concrete answer, one that will help me properly mourn the death of my older brother."

He sighed, running a dirty hand over his equally filthy face. "Seth has not yet passed into the Hall of Mandos," Eomer finally admitted, "and there is indeed a chance that your brother might not enter the realms of the dead for many years to come."

_Thank you so much, Oromë! _My shoulders sagged with the relief that this statement provided. _I will do my best to honor our deal and sacrifice myself for the good of the people! That is my promise to you._

"However, it is a relatively small chance that he will survive, milady," Eomer gently added, as though sensing that these words might instill within me a false sense of hope. His expression became increasingly stern. "His wounds were very deep, bordering on fatal, it seemed."

I didn't care that his chances were slim! Seth had lived through countless wounds, battles, and wars before! He'd survive this, too! Or else, I would **kill** him…!

Still, I had to be certain that his words weren't being misconstrued in my attempts to comfort myself. "Are you absolutely certain that my brother is alive?" I asked, almost desperately.

My heart actually skipped a beat in anticipation his next words; thus, the young lord hastened to assure me that my brother was alive, albeit in critical condition. Seth had been shot with several poison arrows – once in the hip, once in the leg, and three times in the arms. The bloody wounds were cleansed, treated for the poisonous infection, and wrapped safely beneath a cocoon of fresh linen bandages. He had been left in the relative safety of Edoras, until the time that the healers deemed him fit to ride again. Then, Seth would travel through the lands and willingly rejoin them in their exile.

"Now, I've something to show you, milady."

Eomer removed his dirty helmet, perhaps out of respect for my companions, and motioned for me to follow him over to his horse. I hesitated, thinking back on the days of my early childhood, during which time a teacher had sternly told me never to speak with strangers. The young man raised a questioning eyebrow at my actions, but he did not appear to begrudge me the obvious reluctance that had firmly rooted my feet to the ground. Instead, Eomer smiled at me in quiet amusement and went about retrieving something from his saddlebags.

Eomer returned after a moment of shuffling through his traveling pack, and he queried, "Do you recognize this piece of jewelry, milady?" His hazel eyes stared down at me, now, intent upon my reaction to the trinket that he was displaying in the open palm of his right hand.

My lips trembled at the sight of that small, golden ring. "Where did you get this, Lord Eomer?" I whispered, trying to suppress the hope that was rushing through my veins like red hot magma. It burned so much…

"Seth entrusted this to me for the time being, milady, on the chance that his little sister, someone that he holds very dear to his heart, might stumble across our company," he cautiously replied.

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam! Call my name, you know who I am!_

I reached for the ring with my own hand, although it appeared that the stupid limb had a mind of its own at the moment. My fingers stopped within an inch of the ring, hovering above the thick, black inscription that was etched across the golden exterior. Even now, I remembered the words that were inscribed upon the ring. I'd not believed in those words for many years, not since my father finally admitted to hating me, but now…

Gently, I traced my shaking fingertips over the tiny inscription, smiling to myself at the recently discovered truth in those familiar words. There was still hope, then, if that ring had managed to follow me into this world whilst bearing the very same words that the Valar were so intent upon beating into my thick skull. Oromë's words echoed in my head, over and over – _You will find love, young one. _Perhaps he had actually meant it in a general sense, and not in regards to romance.

The Man gestured to the ring hanging from my outstretched fingers, before explaining, "This odd language is not familiar to me, but my companion translated the words into my tongue, and –"

I'd said them many times before, if only to convince myself that were a reason for the pain that people experienced, a reason to live. "'Love will always prevail,'" I blurted the phrase into the silence, relishing the familiar taste of those words.

That was probably a very stupid decision on my part, of course, but it was impossible for me to refrain from speaking the treasured words. This little trinket was almost as important to me as the precious dog tag that was now resting in the greedy clutches of Death. Seth had bought the golden ring for me about eight years ago, shortly after we began to suffer through the wonderful trials of puberty. Father hadn't felt the need to explain the Birds and the Bees to us, either. It was up to the two of us to figure it out for ourselves. So, Seth had taken that one burden upon himself, and he had chosen to instill within me the importance of saving my virginity for someone that loved me as a man loved a woman.

My brother, on the other hand, was more than happy to chase after anything in a skirt. He would flirt shamelessly with a young woman, before ultimately convincing her to sleep with him. And then, Seth would move on to his next conquest – her best friend.

Yeah, Seth was a bit of a womanizer…

"You are indeed the sister of my trusted companion!" Lord Eomer exclaimed, and he appeared to be stunned momentarily. His gaze was unexpectedly filled with a great amount of respect. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Sammy…"

This formal reaction confused me for the span of a moment; then, it occurred to me that many women could not read in this world. It was not expected of them, either, so many of them did not even _attempt_ to learn the art of reading, writing, and public speaking. In contrast, I'd chosen to set numerous goals for myself. I had wanted to learn as much as possible, going so far as to earn a degree in the performing arts, as well as two additional college degrees. I'd sought to compensate for all of my shortcomings, like being a weak, stupid, and ugly little girl. It hadn't actually worked, but my big brother was very proud of me. In the end, that was all that really mattered to me.

Gleefully, I returned my attention to the conversation at hand and pointed out, "Actually, I look just like my older brother, Seth!" That was certainly true, even though the two of us were fraternal twins, a detail that most people overlooked.

Eomer raised an eyebrow at this declaration, obviously disagreeing with the overall truth in that statement. He retorted, "I do believe that your brother has green eyes, milady." His hazel gaze darted over the filthy state of my clothing. "Seemingly, Seth shares your distaste for personal hygiene, though…"

I nodded solemnly in agreement. "Well, I've gotta admit that neither one of us is overly fond of soap," I quipped with an amused smile, the likes of which continued to widen with the passing of each moment. Nothing was going to dampen my spirits, now!

There was a chant echoing in mind at that moment, which basically repeated the phrase – _Seth is alive! Seth is alive! Seth is __**alive**__…! _

"Your brother mentioned that you were unlike any other woman in this world, but it did not truly occur to me that you might be _this_ eccentric, milady." He shook his blonde head back and forth, thoroughly exasperated with the situation, and declared, "You are a strange creature, indeed."

"And yet, I have a feeling that you were still questioning my claims…" I wryly stated, thinking back to the wary expression on his worn face just moments ago.

Lord Eomer allowed a sheepish smile to drift across his lips. "I apologize for the interrogation, milady, but we had to be certain of your identity," he insisted, "lest this offer be made to a young woman that was not his sister."

That sounded incredibly suspicious; however, it was still polite for me to give them the benefit of the doubt. "What exactly are you talking about, Lord Eomer?" I curiously asked, before raising a hand to adjust the broken hem of my tunic.

He reached forward to grasp that very hand within his own, placing a delicate kiss upon the soft skin above my knuckles. "It would be our profound honor to escort such a beautiful young woman to Edoras," Eomer teased, and with a haughty smirk, too.

_This Man definitely knows that he's a handsome devil! _I thought, blinking in surprise at his bold actions. And then, it occurred to me that his words indicated my appearance to be somewhat appealing to the opposite gender, too. _But, I'm weak, and stupid, and ugly…right?_

I blushed, embarrassed, and hastily pulled my hand away from the smirking young man. "Er…"

Aragon decided that he would announce his continued presence at that exact moment. He had been conversing with our companions about the thick smoke that was growing in the distance, and now, a worried frown marred his pale lips. That conversation was not enough to distract them from the habit of protecting their own, though, and the tall male had apparently been directing a bit of his attention towards my conversation with Eomer. He was **not** pleased.

"We might also become better acquainted during that time, as well," Lord Eomer added, whilst glancing at the oncoming storm out of the corner of one amused eye. For some strange reason, he appeared to find it funny to taunt the older male. The young man obviously did not wish to live for much longer…

With a scowl, Aragorn stomped over the five yards that separated the two of us and gently pulled my smaller form away from the other male. His stormy gaze was positively glowing with anger, an emotion that seemed almost infinite in its capacity. The steely expression on his tan face also served as a sign that this was not the time to challenge him, either. He had far too many other concerns to think of at the moment, and their battle would be swift, should the younger male wish to fight him.

I bit back a sigh, realizing that this was about to become a pissing contest of sorts. Still, I had to admit that it pleased me to some extent that the two of them were acting like idiots over little ol' me. And that clearly made me an idiot, as well.

"I believe that your company has been exiled from those lands, Lord Eomer," Aragorn calmly stated, as though relating the weather for the day, and motioned towards in the general direction of their homeland. "It would prove difficult for you to escort this young woman into Edoras."

The Ranger firmly rested a hand upon the hilt of his sword, whereas the other was placed on the small of my back. That gesture was a clear mark of possession, too. Placing a hand upon a girl in that matter was something that even a person of _my_ inexperience could understand, and it sent a shiver of excitement down my spine, over my hips, and into my nether regions. I'd never been very fond of such chauvinistic acts before, but Aragorn had this way of making his gestures seem more protective than demeaning in nature. It made me feel safe to be at his side.

Boromir came forward to stand at the side of his captain. "Yes, I was pondering on that matter, as well…" he drawled, raising a blonde eyebrow in question. The Gondorian glared at the young lord, clearly doubting the innocence of his intentions.

This time, I admittedly released an audible sigh, protesting, "Boromir!" To which none of them paid any mind, of course….

Eomer frowned at this sudden turn of events; however, he waved away their concern and quietly admitted, "That is certainly true, Lord Boromir." He smiled faintly, though, and motioned to his company. "None of us are permitted entrance within the city, but we could easily escort this beautiful lady to the front gates."

The young soldier glanced over at me and tilted his blonde head to the side, obviously awaiting a response. My lips were parted, and the beginnings of a loud cry in the affirmative were about to escape into the air. This was the answer to all of my prayers! I'd wanted to find my brother for months, now, ever since the Valar had hinted at his existence in this world. Aragorn had ruined any chance of finding him at the beginning of this journey, but that injustice was about to be corrected.

Still, I hesitated in answering that question. I'd realized several days ago that, without their help, it would have been impossible for me to even leave the forests of Lothlórien. I would never have survived the harsh elements of the wilderness without the protection of Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and even Legolas. And I had a specific purpose in this world, too. The Valar insisted that it was my destiny to travel with the members of the Fellowship. I had been ordered to ease the pain of their journey, even if that could only be obtained through the sacrificing of my own life. It was impossible for me to do so, however, if we were separated.

If I decided to travel with this company of soldiers, there was a great chance that we would reach Edoras – it wouldn't take very long, either. I would be reunited with my brother for the first time in three long years. And I would be safe within those brick walls, until the time that it came to reunite with my friends and aid them in protecting the people of that city.

There were even more pressing matters for me attend to at the moment, though. Both Merry and Pippin were currently in the hands of our enemy, the Uruk-hai. I needed to travel to Fangorn, if only to determine whether or not our small companions were safe. There was a possibility that the two of them were in danger, due to my idiocy and careless meddling. I would have to run some serious damage control to save their lives, should the storyline have changed in any way, shape, or form.

I'd loved my brother more than anything else in the world at one point in time, in part because he was the only person that had actually managed to worm their way into my scarred heart. Now, I had several other friends to cherish, and the urge to protect them was more prevalent than this selfish desire to visit my brother in Edoras. I didn't want any of my precious friends to die.

"Thank you, Lord Eomer," I said, attempting a curtsy for his benefit, which only served to amuse the others. Boromir appeared rather proud of that accomplishment, too. "Still, I think it best for me to go with these guys." I jerked a thumb over my shoulders, in the direction of my four wary companions. "I'd _hate _to miss an opportunity to annoy 'em."

"Yes, that_ would_ be your reason for joining us on this journey, wouldn't it?" Boromir muttered, sourly, and with a roll of his stormy gray eyes. He didn't appear to be as proud of me in that instance. "Silly girl…"

The young lord blinked once in surprise. "We will be able to protect you from the enemy, if that is the cause for your concern," Eomer insisted, placing a large hand on the hilt of his sword in emphasis. "I would willingly trade my life for yours, Lady Sammy."

I grimaced at that morbid declaration and coughed into my fist, feeling a bit uneasy. "Uh, that's really sweet of you, milord, but it won't be necessary." Honestly, I'd prefer that no sacrifices be made on **my** behalf…

"Ah…" He stared down at me with a small, knowing smile. "I assume that you will be joining your companions on their search for the missing Hobbits, then?" Lord Eomer queried. His hazel eyes flickered briefly in the direction of the future King of Gondor.

I blushed at the implications in those words, before smiling shyly up at the blonde young man and admitting, "Well, I made a promise to do everything within my power to keep them safe and out of trouble, so…yeah."

"You do not appear to be a seasoned warrior, milady, even with the aid of your magic," Eomer pointed out, before catching sight of my dark, irritated expression. He hastened to add, "I do not mean you any offense by these words of mine."

With a small smile, I shrugged away his misplaced concern and drawled, "Lord Eomer, I may not be a warrior, but there are a number of tricks up my sleeve, if ya catch my drift." I winked at him, allowing a few chords of music to begin playing in the background.

"Indeed!" Eomer agreed. The Third Marshal apparently found my cheeky insistence to be rather amusing, though, and he began to laugh loudly at the harmless display of magic. "I've no doubt that you are capable of discretion and deceit, Lady Sammy!"

That earned him a small huff of annoyance on my part, but nothing more was said in response to that blatantly sexist remark. I didn't want to offend him with sexist remarks of my own, because that this particular young man was willing to ignore my eccentric personality and treat me with respect, unlike his crude companions. Thus, I reluctantly offered him that precious golden trinket – my purity ring.

Seriously, I raised the tip of my chin and said, "Thank you for showing this to me, Lord Eomer."

He smiled kindly at the gesture and wrapped his larger fingers around my own, consequentially closing them over the small ring. "Keep it with you, milady, and treasure it as your brother once did," Eomer solemnly insisted, before turning away to mount his gray horse.

"Thank you…" I whispered, hoarsely, and with a tremulous smile, "…for everything."

Tears pricked at the corner of my blue eyes, illuminating the gratitude that was carefully hidden in their depths. Eomer allowed one corner of his mouth to turn upwards into a small smirk at the sight, though, and he nodded quickly at my companions, all of whom responded with smiles of their own. The young lord began to issue several stern orders to his soldiers, directing the group towards the distant White Mountains, near which their homeland rested.

Then, the Riders of Rohan vanished over the glowing horizon and into the wilderness, under the proud gaze of a red sun. Blood had been spilled this night, but there was still hope for the future of this world, because love would always prevail.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Well, I think that Sammy is finally beginning to understand the changes occuring within herself, eh? She knows that her duty to protect her companions is far more important than her desire to see her brother again. This is the beginning of the end, my friends! Soon enough, I will **finish** this story, and then, there might be a sequel! Mwhahahaha! :D

I hope you guys appreciated the **extra fluff** between our main hero and heroine! Hell, I even added an extra two pages - one thousand words - to this chapter. So **read and review**, okay? I'm hoping for about **145 reviews**!

P.S. **IMPORTANT! ** I need you guys to answer this question for me! In the next chapter, **do you want meet Seth?** Or would you rather wait until the chapter where everyone shows up at Edoras? It's up to you, guys! Let me know, okay?


	20. Chapter 19:  Misery Loves Its Company

~Chapter Nineteen~

Misery Loves Its Company

_Is This The Whole Picture,  
>Or Is It Just The Start?<br>Is This The Way You Love Me?  
>You're Capturing My Heart.<em>

_I Used To Try And Walk Alone,  
>But, I've Begun to Grow.<em>

_And I'm Here To Stay.  
>Nothing Can Separate Us.<em>

_Don't Ever Let Me Go._

_~Wrapped in Your Arms,_ by Fireflight

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Tears pricked at the corner of my blue eyes, illuminating the gratitude that was carefully hidden in their depths. Eomer allowed one corner of his mouth to turn upwards into a small smirk at the sight, though, and he nodded quickly at my companions, all of whom responded with smiles of their own. The young lord began to issue several stern orders to his soldiers, directing the group towards the distant White Mountains, near which their homeland rested.<strong>

**Then, the Riders of Rohan vanished over the glowing horizon and into the wilderness, under the proud gaze of a red sun. Blood had been spilled this night, but there was still hope for the future of this world, because love would always prevail.**

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><p>The warmth of this morning had shifted its attention to the distant mountains, which were now located directly in the path of the sun, thanks to their impressive height. It was approximately four o' clock in afternoon, give or take an hour or so, and the temperature had dropped rather drastically in response to the time change. The bipolar weather actually reminded me of the deserts in my own world. That thought, in turn, caused me to think about my brother, Seth.<p>

It would be nice to see the older blonde male again, but our reunion would have to wait. And I could survive another day or so without my brother – that (really) short span of time was _nothing _compared to the three long years that we had already been apart. Stupidly waiting for my brother to come home every damn day had gifted me with a great deal of patience in regards to that one aspect of life. I was waiting, waiting, always waiting. But, Seth would come home to me. My handsome knight in shining white armor would return someday, and so it was easy enough to wait for him. After all, I loved him, and that was a big part of love. Sacrifice.

_You know, it seems to me that my life will only ever be god enough for that one thing, _I thought, somewhat bitterly. Death had said as much himself – _"And you destiny, in turn, is to sacrifice yourself for the sake of Hope."_

And I would do it, too. I would sacrifice myself for him. Because I loved him, more than one might think possible for a young woman of my age – twenty years young – and my personality, which was admittedly rather nasty. But, I really did love Aragorn…

_Love…_

My fingers traveled over the golden ring that had been left in my care, needlessly searching for the black words engraved into the innermost section. I silently counted each of the lines that my fingertips encountered. Twenty letters, four words, and one single meaning. _Love will always prevail. _

I smiled softly to myself, because that there was actually some truth to that statement. Long ago, I wouldn't have believed it to be true. Love was for suckers, after all! But now, I had several different loves, each one more intense in strength than the last. Platonic love burned within my heart for my guardian, Boromir. Sitting beside that was the familial love of a sibling, dedicated solely to my brother, Seth. And I was nurturing a romantic love for my precious Aragorn, as well.

There was still hope for this world, then, if love could beat so strongly within the heart of a cold and selfish bitch like me. Contrary to popular belief, it had **not** forsaken these lands. Almighty Lord Eomer was wrong, dammit!

"Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope that either of them is still alive," Eomer had so kindly suggested, as if we needed his permission, or something. He had shaken his blonde head like a horse and added a careful warning – "It has forsaken these lands…"

Aragorn had flinched at those words, taking them as a barb against his hidden legacy – and his refusal to fight for the throne up until this point. He had always managed to suppress the guilt of his decision. That one comment, however, bothered him. The Ranger had bowed his head and focused his attention upon the ground, as though the lumps of red dirt were more interesting than the famed Riders of Rohan.

And Oromë had urgently whispered to me: _When Hope is lost, your song will save him._

Then, I'd placed a small hand within his much larger one, tightly squeezing his fingers between my own. Stormy gray eyes had shot upwards, and the older male stared over at me in surprise as a few notes of music drifted up our entwined limbs, offering him comfort. I had smiled faintly, willing him to understand that this wasn't his fault. No. It was mine.

A gust of cold wind suddenly whistled over the grassy plains, thusly breaking through the dark and worried thoughts that were threatening to consume me. I stared at the others, watching with tired eyes as the four of them collectively debated over our next move. Saving Merry and Pippin was a priority. The Hobbits had yet to escape the grasp of our enemy – if the word of the Riders could be trusted, anyway. Either way, I knew that we needed to pack our belongings into our respective saddlebags and get onto the horses, before riding steadily onwards. Towards the distant cloud of smoke, blood, and death.

Aragorn had mentioned that it would be best to continue without taking a break, but no one was willing to move so much as a muscle at the moment. None of them were ready to stomach the possibility of having to face the death of another companion. The Fellowship had already lost one trusted friend, Gandalf the Grey. It had been three months since his death, but Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli had yet to come to terms with the loss of their comrade. The Hobbits hadn't been much better, come to think of it…

But I couldn't really fault them for their continued grief, as it had taken me almost seven months to accept that the fact that my older brother had died. And I had not really come to terms with his death, either – my suicide was a pretty good indication of that much. Judging these people for stubbornly holding onto their grief would be incredibly hypocritical of me.

Needless to say, I wisely decided to keep my stupid mouth shut. I desperately wanted to rebel against the common sense that had hijacked my brain – the likes of which was urging me to** shut** **the** **fuck up** – and tell them that each of their friends was alive, though. Merry and Pippin _were_ supposedly alive, relatively healthy, and traveling with the Ents. And Gandalf the Grey would be returning to them within a few hours!

Thankfully, I was not given the chance to stupidly blurt out pertinent information that might be used to change the storyline. Because Aragorn chose that moment to inform us that all three of the horses had been fitted with extra saddlebacks, and that the sturdy creatures were carrying our gear, as well. None of them appeared to be suffering any pain due to the additional weight; thus, I assumed that the horses were built for specifically for strength, rather than speed. Each of them had the appearance of a lean, mean, fighting machine. Good breeding.

The Ranger wearily gestured for us to step closer to the three horses, all of which appeared to have given him a bit of difficulty. Two of the three warhorses were standing patiently beside the Ranger, the absolute picture of sweet innocence and docility. Arod and Hasufel, I assumed.

The third beast, however, was completely unfamiliar to me, as he'd never been mentioned in the original storyline. He had apparently made an entrance into this movie with the sole purpose of offering transportation to the unexpected addition of my guardian, Boromir. And I would swear on my sanity – or perhaps the lack thereof – that the two of them were a match made in Heaven! The noble warhorse refused to remain in place and was prancing haughtily around the members of our small group. I bit back a laugh, stifling the delighted snicker behind the safety of a single uplifted hand to the mouth. That one horse really did remind me of the noble – and exceedingly proud – Gondorian, Boromir.

"Arod, Hasufel, and Aglæca will bring us to the edge of the forest," Aragorn wearily explained, before making a sad attempt to procure the reigns of the hyper horse, the latter of whom quickly leapt out of the way. He glared at the creature in distaste. "We will eventually return the troublesome beasts to Meduseld."

Dark blue eyes were now glittering brightly with amusement. "Are you that eager to return these sweet creatures to their gracious owners, my friend?" Legolas inquired in an innocent tone of voice, and with a small smile. "'tis a pity. Aglæca seems to have taken a liking to you…"

_Aglæca…? _ I blinked owlishly in surprise, narrowed my eyes, and waited impatiently for the word to shift into my own language. _That translates roughly to _**_monster_**_…_ And I blanched at the realization. _Oh, boy! This horse is certainly going to be a handful._

Aragorn subtly reached out to acquire the reigns once more, but the horse anticipated this move and ducked his dark head. The Ranger threw both of his hands up in the air, exasperated, and exclaimed, "That day could not come soon enough, in my opinion."

Watching the older male attempting to capture the crazy horse was proving to be a great source of entertainment for me. I snickered at these irritated and immature words, albeit quietly, so as not to drawn attention to myself. If I were caught, this particular episode of _Little House on the Prairie_ would be over in a heartbeat, and that would seriously suck. Aragorn would stop chasing after the horse, because he was a rather dignified and reserved individual. And I had this sinking feeling that the regal male would not appreciate being pranked, teased, or made fun of. The King of Gondor would not appreciate his subjects knowing about the time that he decided to wrestle a horse – and lost.

I burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at the visual that last thought provided, which depicted the older male tackling the black horse like a football player, which he was attempting to do at this very moment. God, I would give _anything_ to see him tackle that horse! It would certainly be the highlight of my day. Maybe even my entire lifetime!

The Ranger slowly turned his attention to me, having heard the laughter this time around, and sourly drawled, "I am glad that my misfortune pleases you so greatly, milady." His thin lips had twitched upwards and into a faint smile, though, so all was good. No harm, no foul.

"Oh, I'm having a blast," I assured him, before gesturing to the sweat that was dripping down the side of his face. He was even filthier than at the beginning of this journey, and that had seemed to be an impossibility at the time. "This is so much better than watching reruns of _NCIS!_"

"I see…" Aragorn obviously didn't understand the reference to the popular television show, but the small smile on his face still transformed into a smug smirk. "Would you care to battle the beast, instead?"

"That will not be necessary," Boromir suddenly proclaimed, all the while leading the now quiet horse by the reigns. Aglæca appeared to be scarred for life, thanks to the strict ministrations of the stubborn soldier pulling him along. "He is quite tame, given the correct incentive, it seems."

I twitched spastically at this bit of information, glancing up at the older male and his warhorse, the latter of whom was staring forlornly at the ground, as though he knew that his days were officially numbered. Quietly, I muttered, "Poor Aglæca…"

Boromir clearly saw the looks of disbelief that everyone was sending his way, because the smug male responded with a wide smirk. His eyes suddenly narrowed into an irritated glare, though, after catching sight of our cheeky leader. "And I would appreciate you_ protecting _my ward, Aragorn, rather than throwing her in the way of harm!"

Aragorn grinned at this last statement, amused, commented, "And I had believed you to be a soldier from Gondorian, Boromir, rather than a horse lord from Rohirrim." The mockery in that last statement was obvious, as it had been formed from the previous response.

My guardian had been quiet during this entire fiasco, which was a rarity, as the blonde male preferred to be at the center of attention. He greatly enjoyed interrupting a conversation being held by two different people and adding his two cents worth. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, or whatever currency was used in this world. It seemed that this bad habit of tactfully delivering insults was the result of his noble upbringing, too, because the remarks that he made were often subtle, pointed, and straight to the point. In other words, Boromir was a born politician. Ugh.

That might also explain the reason for the constipated expression on both of their faces as the two of them glared at each other over the top of my head. Most politicians were renowned for spewing bullshit, after all! Take his next words for instance…

The Gondorian scowled at his companion. "And I had believed you to be a Ranger," Boromir responded airily, with a wave of his gloved hand. "Alas, I have seen that you are incapable of properly controlling a horse, so that must not be so."

"I would like to see you control that unruly beast for more than five minutes," Aragorn darkly muttered to himself, and it appeared that the normally dignified male was pouting. He kicked at a rock that rested in the dirt near his feet.

I smiled widely and watched him pointedly glare at the rock, as though it were the sole cause for world hunger. Oh, I was thoroughly enjoying the novelty that was an immature Aragorn. Yeah. He had definitely resorted to pouting. And I found it to be utterly adorable. Pretty funny, too!

For once, Boromir decided to be the bigger person and ignored the pouting male. He stubbornly insisted, "Now, I suggest that we continue along this path, so as to ensure the safety of Masters Merry and Pippin." His gray eyes were glowing with sincerity, and it was obvious that he still believed that their escape was the result of his mistakes. **Wrong!**

My gaze drifted towards the horizon, focusing upon the largest cloud of smoke. The truth of the matter was that this could very well be my fault, too. Inwardly, I sighed at that train of thought, wishing that it would derail. To my chagrin, it did nothing of the sorts. And I'd found no one to blame for that misery other than myself. I would have liked to blame my guardian for this mess and the disappearance of our friends, but that would have been unfair, as it wasn't his fault.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

Still, I was tired of being the person that caused everything in this world to break apart. I wanted someone _else _to help take charge of fixing this storyline, perhaps messing it up along the way, as well. It would be nice to have a companion to work with, side by side, as we both attempted to muddle through this mess together. Like Seth.

_The fates of many rest upon your survival._

I rubbed a hand over my face, mentally exhausted, and drifted towards the three warhorses. The others had already gathered their traveling packs, vacated the campsite – it was actually more of an unofficial pit stop, really – and meandered over to their respective mounts. Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir easily mounted the large animals, sitting upon the backs of their noble steeds with an ease that could only have been born from many years of practice.

Poor Gimli, on the other hand, was not as accustomed to riding horses. The shorter male had a bit of trouble with completing the desired action, as might be expected of someone of his stature. He had fallen from his tentative perch on the stirrups, stumbling to the ground more than once in his stubbornness – about six times, to be honest. Eventually, Gimli admitted defeat in the face of his adversary, a gray warhorse with white markings and curly hair. Arod accepted the surrender gracefully, whereas his rider chose to smirk in victory.

The Dwarf glowered darkly up at large horse, grumbling under his breath, "I hate these bloody creatures…" It was impossible to discern whether or not he was referring to the gray horse, or its infuriating rider, Legolas.

"Come, Gimli," Legolas laughed, before leaning over the edge of the horse and kindly offering his nemesis a bit of help. The smirk remained on his lips. "Many a horse has proven to be worth its weight in gold."

Gimli released a sigh of frustration, then, at the sight of the pale appendage that was to pull him upwards. "I'll have ye know that it wasn't with the aid o' the horse that me kin sifted through the dirt, thusly makin' the Mines of Moria."

Nonetheless, Gimli soon joined the others upon the back of the large horses. And I would have joined them, too, had the choice of which horse for me to ride been more obvious. As it were, I was having trouble picking between the sweet horse that was being ridden by Aragorn – and the black monstrosity that my guardian had decided to claim as his own. Now, I was not stupid by any means! The better choice would be to ride with Aragorn and Hasufel. But I would also be expected to ride with my guardian, because it was more _proper_ to sit with _him_ than being so close to a male that was not related to me. Not that either one of them was related to me!

I finally decided upon mounting the hyper beast that my guardian was sitting on, nearing the odd creature with a determined expression on my pale face. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that it was similar in both color and speed to the Peruvian Paso. Black and swift. That breed of horse had originated in and around the country of Spain, approximately in the latter half of the Middle Ages. The horses in that area of the world had been bred with only a single goal in mind during that time period – traveling quickly and smoothly over the mountainous terrain common to that half of Europe. The Peruvian Paso was a favorite of both merchants and soldiers alike.

There was only one difference between that breed of horse and this one, however, and that was the sheer enormity of its size. A Peruvian Paso typically reached maturity at around age five and could be anywhere between fourteen and fifteen hands in height. This black beast in particular was incredibly large, bordering on almost twenty hands or so high. That was over five hands more than the average horse his size should be!

Thus, I could only surmise that the additional height was normal in this world. These horses were much larger than the ones that were native to my country, just as most men and women in this world seemed to be much taller than me in height. Aragorn and Boromir were almost six and a half feet tall, compared to my pathetic height of five feet and two inches. It didn't bother me too terribly much; most people were taller than me. And I had been riding horses for almost fifteen years, with and without tack. I'd always been infinitely more at home on the back of a horse, anyway.

"Save a horse, and ride a cowboy," had never meant too terribly much to me in that sense…

With a shrug, I wandered over to grab at a handful of leather stirrups and mount the black horse belonging to Boromir. I wanted to sit behind my guardian, as it would give me the chance to talk with him in private about my feelings for Aragorn. And I'd have the chance to peruse the bags that had been attached to the large creature, as well. Lembas bread would not be on the dinner menu tonight, folks! Nope. Not if it were left up to me.

"Oi, Aglæca! What do those people feed you back home?" I panted and lifted up a hand in order to grab the saddle horn. It was sweaty, and my hands were unable to grasp it properly between their fingers.

_That's what _**_she _**_said! _I mentally slapped myself for that immature thought, and decided to chidingly respond to my inner pervert. _Down, girl! _

Turning my attention back to the horse, I gruffly asked, "Give me a hand, would ya?"

Boromir held up a hand, but it was only to stop my progress. I froze briefly in disbelief, thinking that the blonde male was about to berate me for wanting to ride a horse. Women were expected to ride sidesaddle here, it seemed. Bloody sexist bastards were intent upon forcing those of my gender into subservience. And I had to admit that it was working, too…

My hands stilled at the strap belonging to the stirrup, after all, which had been aiding me in my desire to pull myself upwards. Now, I didn't normally use anything other than my own strength to do such a thing, but it was a tad more difficult for me to mount such a large horse. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Absolutely!

To my surprise, Boromir nodded towards the leader of our group and, by way of an explanation, gently said, "You should ride upon the gentler brown horse with Aragorn, little one." His smile was not condescending in the least, but it still pissed me off.

"That is completely unfair, Boromir," I complained, loudly, and whilst pointing to the black devil – er, horse – with an accusatory finger. "'Cause I am perfectly capable of riding him!"

_That's what _**_she _**_said! _That little voice inside of my head chose that moment to reappear, hinting at my obvious sexual frustration, thanks to the eye candy that was seated upon Hasufel. Damn Aragorn for being so sweet. The feminine voice once again reappeared, darkly whispering the words into my ear. _That's what she said, _**_too!_**

And I found that funny, for perhaps a fraction of a minute – a millisecond, even! Then, I wanted to beat that immature side of my personality with a hammer, so as to silence it forever and ever and ever.

Besides, I was supposed to be acting like a proper young lady, not a harlot. Boromir was always nagging me about adhering to the rules etiquette, _and _manners, _and _high society. He had been insisting that it would be necessary, as the time would eventually come for him to introduce me to his father, the Steward of Gondor. Denethor. That was a conversation that had effectively scared the living daylights out of me. I mean, it was Denethor!

But I had agreed to act the part of a quiet young woman upon meeting the crazy old geezer, if only to make my guardian happy.

Well, Boromir was happy, indeed. I would officially be a member of his family after that one meeting, and my guardian had recently been able to steal me away from the evil clutches of our new leader of the Fellowship, as well. Upon further questioning, Boromir had sheepishly smiled and insisted that the other male would rob me of my virtue, or something to that effect. I knew that my crush wasn't capable of doing such a horrible thing, though. Aragorn was much too sweet to harm a woman. And I told him so.

Needless to say, Aragorn was not pleased with this development; however, he had said very little to defend himself – until my guardian began to question his motives and made a comment about his intentions towards me, anyway. Boromir and Aragorn were now constantly at war with one another, though most of it was in jest. It was ridiculous. One would think that those idiots would be more concerned with the war that we were all currently fighting, you know?

"Aragorn needs your comfort, now," Boromir quietly explained, but only after noticing the thoroughly confused – and irritated – expression on my face. He coughed into his gloved fist and hastily added, "And I believe that only you will be able to break through the barriers that the stubborn mule is erecting."

I visibly startled, caught off guard by this sincere opinion that my words were actually of value to someone else. And Aragorn, of all people!

"That Man wouldn't want comfort from a selfish little brat!" I stubbornly insisted, "And I doubt that anyone else would, either…"

Boromir disagreed with me and muttered, "You are _very_ important to him, my dear." His lips curled upwards into a small albeit genuine smile, and the older male placed a hand on the top of my head, so as to ruffle my blonde hair back and forth. "Aragorn cares greatly about you – and more than likely your opinion, as well."

"Oh…" I blushed darkly in response to those words, before glancing up at my guardian through a set of thin eyelashes. There was a hopeful lilt to my voice as I asked, "Do you really think so, Boromir?"

The Gondorian nodded solemnly. "I am certain of it, little one," Boromir replied, and with a cheeky smile that indicated the truth of his next words. "And Aragorn has always been very affectionate towards you, after all…"

"Fine," I mumbled, releasing the grip both of my hands had upon the saddle and slowly turning towards the love born of my heart, Aragorn. My blush continued to darken at the thought of speaking with him. "I'll just go sit with the neurotic Ranger, then."

"Good girl," Boromir teasingly quipped, patting me on the top of the head as one might do for an obedient dog. Could practically hear the asshole bellowing the command to fetch him a stick…

Hesitantly, I wandered away from the safety that my guardian provided and over to the leader of our little group. I raised the tip of my chin, before staring up at the brooding male with a very nervous smile etched over my trembling lips. The Ranger raised a single black eyebrow at my presence, narrowing a pair of gray eyes in the general direction of my smirking guardian. And then, Aragorn softened his countenance, smiling at the blonde male in thanks. The two of them had seemingly come to some sort of agreement. Oh, joy. Fear my sarcasm.

"Allow me to assist the lady," Aragorn teased, reaching over the edge of the brown horse – and the dozens of saddlebags containing our supplies – and offered down his warm hand.

I would normally have ignored the proffered appendage in favor of displaying the awesome horsemanship that came naturally to me, but it would be pointless for me to gain his respect and then cruelly shove it back in his face. Aragorn didn't deserve such treatment, either. The older male did, however, deserve a bit of comfort. And Aragorn was a very manly person, so taking care of me – the supposedly defenseless little girl – would probably give his ego a boost. The laws of masculinity practically guaranteed it!

A moment passed before the decision was made. I thusly grabbed the warm hand, pulling at it with both of my own and wrapping all ten of my fingers around the sleeve of his black tunic. He gently pulled me upwards, higher and higher, until my small form was hovering almost eight feet in the air. The Ranger sensed the unease that was boiling beneath the surface of my skin, and he quickly placed me in front of his body, before scooting forwards to get more comfortable.

My blue eyes widened, almost to the size of saucers, at the feeling of his masculine form rubbing against me. Every _inch_ of his body was now pressed firmly into my own, though his larger form dwarfed my own by almost a foot and a half. He adjusted himself once more, and it came to my attention that his manhood was now pressing into my backside. While not erect at the moment, the appendage was certainly rather large in size. In fact, Aragorn appeared to be fucking huge! No pun intended, my friends…

A tremor crawled its way down my spine, stopping only at the base of my neck, where a dozen little hairs seemed to be standing to attention. I bit back a frightened whimper at the very foreign sensation of being touched by his manhood, as well as a tiny moan of pleasure – it felt so very nice to be pressed up against him in such an intimate manner. We encountered a rocky bit of terrain, causing the horse to fumble for a moment, his large hooves tripping lightly over the ground. Consequentially, Aragorn forcefully pushed himself forward, reaching up and over my arms to secure the reigns. Hasufel eventually regained his footing. I, on the other hand, did not have that luxury.

_Want him to touch me, hold me, love me… _

Aragorn was so close to me, now, that he was practically breathing down my neck. I reveled in the feeling of being near him, though. It felt so very nice to be pressed up against him in such an intimate manner. Like I was only a part of the puzzle, and he had unknowingly been the other half. We were complete this way.

"Enjoying yourself, little one?" Aragorn breathed, his husky voice practically sending my heart into cardiac arrest. "Because I certainly am, now that you are here, with me." One hand wormed its way around my waist, pulling me closer to his warm body. "It is most comfortable."

With a smile, I casually admitted, "Yeah. I'd have to agree with you on that one." Here, I raised my voice, so as to be heard by the others. "This is much better than riding on that crazy horse with my strict, mean, and overbearing guardian, Lord Boromir the Boneheaded!"

I glanced at said guardian out of the corner of my eye. He had apparently noticed my discomfort long ago, in spite of my brash outburst having just occurred. This knowledge caused him to send several evil smirks in my direction. Hissing, I raised the middle finger on my left hand and shot him a very rude gesture, more commonly known as flipping someone the bird. The Gondorian recognized the sign for its true meaning, but he didn't seem to take offense at the vulgarity of the gesture. Instead, Boromir found it to be rather funny, given the amused glint in his gray eyes.

Proper etiquette and manners, my ass! I whirled back around, pointedly staring at the distant line of trees, intent upon the thick line of green foliage. Both of my nostrils were flaring angrily, a sign of my perturbed state of mind.

_Damn him! _I fumed silently. _Boromir is __**such **__a hypocrite! That Gondorian goofball goes on and one about my needing to be a proper young lady; then, the stupid git practically throws me to the wolves! Ugh…_

"Are we there yet?" I asked, tiredly, and finally succumbing to the urge to complain for the first time in almost three weeks. The reference in that sentence was lost upon everyone, but it still cheered me up a bit to speak of it.

"We have not even been moving for a half hour," Aragorn said, seemingly amused. The Ranger glanced towards the forest, which loomed threateningly in the distance. "And I am afraid that we have a long journey ahead of us, little one."

I nervously began picking at the hangnail on my left index finger, pulling gently at the corner to distract myself. My lips twisted downwards into a grimace. Oh, God. I was going to have to sit in front of the object of my desires, a truly sexy man, for the next few hours – and possibly on the ride over to Edoras, too!

Could this day get any worse?

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

It may seem unimportant, but the **horse** related **section** of this chapter was actually **necessary.** I wanted to explain about the horse that will play an important role later on in the story. Aglæca is not simply a horse that has mysteriously arrived in the story to support the two additional characters, Boromir and Sammy. Rather, **Aglæca belongs to someone** in particular. **Any guesses?** :D

Oh, I wanted to mention that this story will have about **six more chapters** or so; then, there will be a **sequel!** Huzzah! Semper fi! War eagle! And all that good stuff.

P.S. I'd like about **160 reviews,** if at all possible, with your **guesses about the horse, his owner, and the importance both might play in this story.** As a side note, I almost typed 'Author's Nose.' XD


	21. Chapter 20:  Ashes to Ashes

~Chapter Twenty~

Ashes to Ashes, We All Fall Down

_I'm Tired of Being What You Want Me to Be,  
>Feeling So Faithless, Lost Under the Surface.<br>Don't Know What You're Expecting of Me._

_And I Know, I May End Up Failing, Too.  
>But I Know, You Were Just Like Me,<br>With Someone Disappointed In You._

_Every Step that I Take is Another Mistake to You._

_~Numb,_ by Linkin Park

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>"Are we there yet?" I asked, tiredly, and finally succumbing to the urge to complain for the first time in almost three weeks. The reference in that sentence was lost upon everyone, but it still cheered me up a bit to speak of it.<strong>

**"We have not even been moving for a half hour," Aragorn said, seemingly amused. The Ranger glanced towards the forest, which loomed threateningly in the distance. "And I am afraid that we have a long journey ahead of us, little one."**

**I nervously began picking at the hangnail on my left index finger, pulling gently at the corner to distract myself. My lips twisted downwards into a grimace. Oh, God. I was going to have to sit in front of the object of my desires, a truly sexy man, for the next few hours – and possibly on the ride over to Edoras, too!**

**Could this day get any worse?**

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><p>Now, I would like to take this one moment to quietly reflect upon my past question, ladies and gentlemen. <em>Could this day get any worse? <em>There were only twenty three letters, six words, and one sentence there in the form of a simple question, or so it would seem. Appearances could be rather deceiving, however, that supposedly simple question was much more than my dying brain could handle.

Yes, folks, I did indeed claim to have a mind, and it was now dying. I was, after all, still being firmly pressed into the very warm and very masculine body of Aragorn. _Could this day get any worse, indeed! _He was the only person in this world – and my own, too – that seemed to be so capable of getting me all _hot 'n bothered, _for lack of a better term.

Not even the hunky Johnny Depp could get such a reaction from me – and that man was really freakin' gorgeous! Pretty brown eyes, his fedoras, and that shy personality…

Ahem. And I have once again missed the point in that question, thusly allowing my mind to wander into the gutters, per the norm. _We ask that you please wait for a moment and allow the system to reboot._ _Thank you for your patience._

While the computer that resided between my ears tried to compute the answer to that question, I decided to busy myself with deciphering the ancient map that Legolas had kindly loaned me. I'd actually thanked the blonde Elf, too, for _this _little beauty was going to aid in my quest to plot the path to freedom. In other words, I was using this collection of secret trails to figure out the best way to save Aragorn from dying at the bottom of that cliff, because it seemed that the Man was not going to survive the fall without a bit of help, though the books had indicated differently.

One Vala, known to all as Oromë the Obstinate, had actually let the information slip during one of our conversations. Unfortunately, it had taken me over a month to figure out that he had done so. _Sacrifice yourself for him. _Yet that could be taken a number of ways. And I hadn't realized that there was more to sacrificing myself than giving away my worthless life. _Sacrifice. _I had the knowledge, and the skills, to help these people better their world. _The fates of many… _

There was this strange feeling bubbling inside of me, one that insisted that something was oddly suspicious about sacrificing everything that had been given to me, especially after the Valar had all worked so hard to resurrect me. God, I had been incredibly lucky that the holy beings had deemed it a cause worthy of their time!

My wish had been granted by the Valar. I'd been given a second chance at life – to find Seth, and to fall in love. I could grow up. And I had indeed become much more like the girl – no, the **woman **– that I had always wanted to be.

Stronger than the weak creature that let her father hit her for looking like her deceased mother, smarter than the girl that had thought a popular boy in school had actually liked her because of that kiss the two of them shared, and more beautiful than the ugly little duckling that burrowed into baggy sweatshirts, jeans, and converse to hide the scars on her plump form. No, I was not weak, _or _stupid, _or_ ugly. Not anymore.

So, I would sacrifice everything to clear my conscience. I would sacrifice all of it…for him.

_You were meant to live a long and happy life._

And I was going to do so, too, with Aragorn, Boromir, Seth, and everyone else at my side. I just had to figure out how to read this damn chicken scratch all over this torn map, and – hey, there! Don't look at me like that! I swear to the Valar that this map was already ripped along that one side, okay?

"I would advise you to place that map someplace safe, milady," Legolas called, almost teasingly, as we neared the edge of the rocky bend. His blue eyes glittered with mischief, before darkening at the sight of the fire blooming just ahead. "Otherwise, the smoke will taint the ink and ruin the map."

A soft snort sounded from the horse, lingering behind the taller male. The Dwarf then pointed a stubby finger at the royal crest on the top of the withered page and barked, "Seems that this Elf be prejudiced 'bout the matter, lass!"

_Oh, shit, shit, shit! _I thought, somewhat terrified with the news that this stupid piece of paper belonged to the ruling family of Elves. _And I really did _**_not_**_ tear this map, seeing as it was in this condition earlier, your honor. _My stark terror slowly faded into calm as the corresponding legal mumbo jumbo – _plausible deniability _– drifted forward from the generally unused portion of my brilliant brain dedicated to new concepts, information, and cool inventions that had yet to be discovered in this world. Like PB&J!

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, proclaiming that it was time for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snack time – whatever meal that came next! Even the amusement of that blasted Ranger did not serve to stifle the following thought. _Oh, I am _**_so _**_hungry…_

Legolas snorted blandly in response to that discriminating statement regarding the map, but he ultimately said nothing on the matter, a sign that the there was something seriously amiss. The blonde Elf kindly leaned his lanky form forward, however, to pat the horse on its sweaty neck, which caused the tail end of his braid to smack the shorter male in the face. Gimli sputtered loudly in annoyance and worked hard to spit the strands out of his mouth.

Right, that was a little strange. Can anyone else here tell that this move was calculated on the part of the Elf? Anybody?

"Oi!" Apparently, Gimli had noticed, too. He flicked the end of the long blonde braid between two fingers, pinching the tender locks and darkly growling, "Wouldn't want to see the little Elf sobbin' over his **lost **family treasure, though, aye?"

And that comment sounded rather threatening to me, but who am I, the touch bitch, to judge?

Speaking of the tough bitch persona, though, I scowled darkly at their incessant squabbling and verbal jabs. Annoyed, I turned to them and grumbled, "Would the two of you just shut up?"

After glaring lightly at the two rivals, I pointedly returned my attention to the dirty map, all the while ignoring the dirty looks that my guardian was throwing this way. I sighed, then, wishing that this stupid trip was over. Edoras couldn't come soon enough, in my humble opinion! Even if that meant that I'd have to introduce them to my perfect big brother, Seth Steele. After all, I would be compared to him, over and over and over again, by the people that meant the most to me. Placed under a microscope for them to examine. Like bacteria. Yuck.

Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli would undoubtedly prefer him to me, too. Because Seth had that damn charisma that everyone in the Fellowship seemed to have running through their blue veins – the charming smile, that humor that made everyone else laugh, and the selfless nature that made people bow down before him in awe.

It was a pretty obvious choice, after all, considering the fact that I still had more of an interest in cowering behind my protectors, rather than saving my friends from falling to their dooms. I'd have to risk everything – _sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice_ – to do so, and with a smile on my face, too. And I wasn't ready to do that. Never would I be able to selflessly sacrifice myself for Aragorn. Or anyone else, for that matter!

My eyes watered faintly at that thought, so much so that I had to fight the urge to start bawling stupidly against the neck of the horse, ashamed of my own selfish desire to live. _I don't want to die. _If he knew, Aragorn would probably berate me for being such a selfish brat all the time, but I couldn't help it! _I don't want to die. _And fuck, I hated being treated like that, because it felt as though the man that I had fallen in love with would only ever see me as a child. _I don't want to die._

But, I was the sacrifice, and the point of being the sacrificial martyr was to die for the sake of someone else – Seth, Boromir, or Aragorn, the three loves born of my memories, my pain, and my heart.

**_I d_**_on't _**_want _**_to _**_die_**_…_

The horses kept rushing over the green grass, and the alternating sensation of their feet beating steadily against the ground calmed me. I succumbed to the soft call of sleep, drifting into a dark and bizarre dreamland, oblivious to the tears drying against my eyelashes. Nightmares plagued me, then, displaying several visions of the Fellowship, their friends, and my Twin dying.

Oh, God, I could see it all. Those bright blue eyes were empty of their ancient wisdom, steel gray eyes would not glint playfully with wicked humor, and honey brown eyes stared up at me without their normal teasing warmth. Stormy gray eyes glared straight forward, empty, save for the black hatred burning in their depths.

Gone. All of them, dead and gone.

Suddenly, Aragorn bellowed loudly at the blue skies above, and the horrible sound was no longer echoing in my horrible dreams, as it had been for the last hour and a half. I bolted upright with a small gasp of shock, trying to maintain my grip upon the damp saddle, the likes of which I had fallen asleep in on the way over to the edge of Fangorn Forest. My sky blue eyes widened in an attempt to make myself more alert. Because Aragorn had officially awakened me with that one scream, a sound that had been brimming with so much pain, and hatred, and devastation.

It only took me a moment to realize that I had stumbled across that really depressing scene in the second movie, the one in which everyone seems to believe that the Hobbits have died. And I had to admit that the sight of that first grave – a mountain of rusty weapons, bloodied garments, and nasty, rotting corpses – caused my heart to jump into the pulsing walls of my throat. Fuck!

_Oh, Merry and Pippin,_ I thought, horrified, staring down at the sight of two belts and a cloak peeking out from beneath a grotesque skull. _This was supposed to happen, right? _The broken and bloodied skull rested beneath a pole bearing the flag of the Rohirrim. _Please, Oromë, don't let them be in there!_

"Ready your weapon, little one," Boromir muttered quietly, placing his hand on the jeweled hilt of his sword, in spite of the dark burns that remained the tender palms, thanks to my latest failed attempt at creating fireballs. Abracadabra. "There may yet be Orcs lurking about."

In response, I reached over my shoulder and grasped the wooden bow in my motionless hands, before stringing the weapon with a thin, feathered arrow. The tip of the arrow was focused on the edge of the forest, towards the middle half of six feet, near the point at which an enemy would likely have their heart. Poised to kill. Like Legolas had taught me.

"Should you see an enemy, my dear, kill it on sight," the Gondorian instructed, then, as though this were merely a normal conversation between the two of us – like killing other creatures in cold blood was a common occurrence.

My next response to this order was one made purely out of instinct. I gagged wildly at the cold and heartless words that were spoken to me, before desperately trying to pretend that it was the oppressive smell of burning flesh, and the coppery scent that whispered through the air after blood had been spilled, that was bothering me. Both still lingered heavily in the air.

_War…_

Boromir allowed the tips of his nose to lift into the air, signaling his anger, and the older male frowned down at me, annoyed and disappointed in my reaction. He turned away from me and quietly ordered, "Do try not to be so sensitive, Samantha."

Ouch. Well, I was officially disgusted with myself. My emotional weakness in regards to the ways of the world – all the pain, bloodshed, deaths, and wars – was nothing new, but this time, it was also strangely upsetting. A strange wave of shame settled into the pit of my empty stomach, burning intensely with the realization that he was disappointed in me. And I couldn't manage to face the one person that had taken to caring for the defenseless little brat – namely, me – with such love. Because I did not deserve his sympathy. Not this time, anyway.

_War stole something from me._

After a moment of silence, I lifted the focus of my sad gaze towards the sun, and then, it drifted slowly towards the leader of our little group. His dark gray eyes were wandering over the large makeshift graves, pausing only to stare at the smaller one, near the flag pole. At that point, the kind expression on his face had dissipated into nothingness; it had been stubbornly replaced by this deceptively calm patience. Black pupils swallowed the light gray of his irises, so that the color appeared to be a snowy white, instead. And I was afraid of him for the very first time.

My sweet and kind Aragorn had become someone else.

The Ranger stared down, without blinking, at the little leather belt that rested in the palm of his hand. He could only breathe in silence, before lifting his disbelieving gaze to stare into my own, which was filled with unease. I knew that Aragorn had figured it out, because this disgust – the same disgust that Boromir had just displayed with his words – was shining in those dark eyes.

"You knew that this would be here, did you not?" Aragorn quietly asked, stepping closer to my trembling form. The question was repeated once more, but this time, it was released in a loud roar of anger, one that echoed loudly in my ears. "Answer me, you little brat!"

Flinching, I backed away from the angered male, doing my best to put a greater distance between the two of us. I was afraid, truthfully, but I did not lie to him to save my own skin. "…yes."

The Elf narrowed his eyes at the hesitation in my voice, even though it was not concealed by the honesty in that one world. "That does not seem to be the only detail that you have withheld from our companions, though," Legolas darkly added.

I bit the tip of my tongue, nervous, and shrugged the bulk of my shoulders in response. My lips remained firmly shut, however, because telling them anything about the plotline in the story that had been written about their world would only ruin our chances of finding the Hobbits alive. To myself, I thought of all the changes that were slowly making themselves known, thanks to the meddling of the Valar. Manwë and Oromë. King and Servant. Gods.

First, Seth and I had arrived in this world, if only to expedite the course of the war. Boromir was still alive, thanks to my determined rescue, and he would undoubtedly lead the City of Gondor to battle, alongside his King. His presence had affected the Riders of Rohan, too, which might also impact the tentative relationship later between the Gondorians and the Rohirrim. There may or may not be a happy ending to this story…

_Every child of God is given a destiny._

And, if I was correct, Seth and I were to tie together the loose ends that someone else had created almost twenty years ago, be it unintentionally or not. Like the fact that Legolas and Arwen were now romantically involved with one another, for starters. This single change, in turn, created several holes within the story, all of them concerning the future King of Gondor. And I was directly included in that, too, thanks to my romantic interest in him. Motherfucker…

Aragorn growled lowly at my continued silence, before grabbing the collar of my blue tunic and whispering, "I suggest that you speak up, little lady, lest I choose to _force_ the words from your throat."

"W-w-well," I stuttered for a moment, caught on that single word, like a broken record. _Get your shit together, Steel! _

There was a collective growling sound amongst the four angry males, a guttural sound that only made me want to piss my pants. My legs trembled nervously at the dark glares that were being directed at me. Four months had passed since my arrival and admittance into their group. And yet, I'd never seen them this fucking **disgusted** with another person. It was as though I had become a monster. Like the Uruk-hai, or Saruman.

_War stole something from me._

"I've been worried that the Hobbits might have encountered some, er, problems," I hastily decided to explain, and with a nervous twitch of my right eye, "even though the two of them were _supposed _to be kidnapped."

"Merry and Pippin were…supposed…to be kidnapped?" Legolas repeated, quietly, and with this awfully blank expression on his delicate Elvin face.

I froze at the realization that this confession had been tricked out of me. _Oh, shit…_

Stormy gray eyes glared at me, anger flashing through them like lightning. "Why did you not tell us of this development earlier?" Aragorn demanded with a snarl, the likes of which twisted his lips upwards into a snide sneer. "We could have saved them!"

Immediately, I chose to protest the validity of that statement, since it was important that the each of them know that there was nothing that could – or should – have been done. I quickly said, "If I had told any of you, then the story would have changed…!"

_And for the worst, too…_

Those last words were not spoken, however, because Gimli interrupted the frantic speech with a snap of his teeth. He slammed the blade of his axe into the ground and snapped, "Bullshit! Ya had no problem saving yer precious guardian, now, did ya?"

Another flinch shivered through my shaking form. It was true that I had been determined to save Boromir. However, I had yet to hear at that point that the protective male considered me to be a member of his family, and that decision had been made before it occurred to me that there was more to life that dark humor, snide remarks, and hatred for anything and everyone. I had not made the choice to keep my knowledge of this world a secret because of that, nor was it the reason that I had chosen to leave this part of the story alone.

Merry and Pippin needed to be captured by our enemies, so that the magical trees – the Ents, if I remembered correctly – could find the two males and bring them along on the journey to find their missing mates. The Hobbits were essential to their battle with the nasty creatures that surrounded the enormous tower belonging to the heartless wizard, Saruman.

But, I could** not** tell them that. Not without changing the story.

"Guys, I'm so sorry," I whispered to them, attempting to pour every ounce of my regret into that one apology, and knowing that it would not be enough to earn their forgiveness. Not yet.

Boromir snarled at the air with the viciousness of the wolves that haunted the forest near my old home, fisting his hand into the tangled locks of his blonde hair. The obvious disappointment and dismay etched across his stern features was far worse than the anger, and it made me want to cry, as he had already started to do. Tears trickled down the stubble on the sides of his face. And Boromir never cried, not even during the time that he had been mortally wounded and on his death bed. Never.

Tentatively, I lowered the wooden bow that remained in my grasp and reached over to place a hand over a shaking part of his forearm, but my guardian merely shrugged the offending limb away in a fit of anger.

"Boromir," I whispered, and my stomach dropped to the toes of my dirty gray sneakers at the way that one word – the name of my guardian – cracked in the middle, like a broken heart.

"Do not speak to me!" Boromir hissed, his gray eyes darkening with horrible sadness, even as he sternly continued, "Because I do not wish to hear your voice at the moment." And then, the Gondorian turned to stare at the makeshift graves, face devoid of all emotion.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

Brown eyes glinted dangerously in my direction, before moving to focus on the leather belt that had been thrown to the ground a moment ago. Harsh words were spoken to the ground, broken only by the occasional vulgar curse hissed in the Common Tongue. Shit, damn, motherfucker.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

Legolas, on the other hand, was more subtle in his grieving, taking the moment to bow his head and begin speaking in his native tongue. The Elvish words were unfamiliar to me, but it sounded much like a prayer for the dead might. Like the words that had been spoken for Gandalf, back in Lothlórien. He obviously thought them dead. And Gimli did, as well.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

"We failed 'em," Gimli hoarsely said, and the sorrow in his words was tangible, especially after the Dwarf shifted his attention to his axe. "Bloody fuck!" Crimson blood glimmered on the silver blade. "We fuckin' failed 'em!"

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

Aragorn had been silent up until that moment, but all of the sudden, the older male lost his calm composure, swiftly turned around, and kicked at the side of the nearest stray helmet. As it was made of metal, the helmet released a loud hollow sound upon being kicked. A bellow of anger whistled through the clearing, but it had not been caused by the impact of kicking such a strong piece of metal armor. Rather, Aragorn appeared to want – or need – a more substantial physical manifestation of pain to distract him from the heartache of losing our innocent companions. He wanted a distraction from the pain of failing them.

_**My**__ fault, __**my**__ fault, __**my **__fault!_

Hastily, I backed away from my grieving companions, retreating towards the eerily quiet woods that encircled the fresh graveyard. There was nothing for me to do, because the four of them did not want my help – or even my comfort. But I did not recoil from them in selfish shame or guilt, as was my initial desire. Not this time. I chose to scurry towards another pile of rotting corpses, instead, since the knowledge of this world was pressing itself firmly into my mind. My blue eyes frantically searched for the telltale sign that was mentioned in the books, as well as the movie – the path taken by the fleeing Hobbits.

Hopeful whispers whistled through the dark forest, but Legolas ignored the quiet trees in favor of softly sighing, "Lady Samantha, we do not have the time, or the energy, to frantically chase after you at the moment." His cold words were lacking in malice, though, and that was a sign that the Elf truly was in pain. He was now in mourning.

My dirty hand lifted upwards in a wave of acknowledgment, before returning to the mess of items upon ground, intent upon sifting through the mess of bloody bones, weapons, and…

"Found you," I whispered, gently touching the frayed edge of the rope with an utterly relieved expression on my sweaty face. "Took me a rather long time, eh?" And I traced the line on the rock that had cut through said rope, too. "But, I found you, and that's all that really matters…"

And I welcomed the resulting sensation of relaxed relief that trickled through my sore limbs. My heart swelled with pride, then, at the knowledge that the two of them had made it through the battle between the Riders of Rohan and the Uruk-hai. Merry and Pippin** had **escaped!

_Take that, Saruman!_

Aragorn made another appearance, having gathered his composure and finally stopped spitting curses up at the sky. Talk about a real mental breakdown, right? Not that I had been listening or anything. That would be rather rude, considering the fact that this person was going to be one of the most respected and powerful Men in the world. The future King of Gondor did not curse, because it was rude, uncalled for, and not very ladylike. Pun intended for once, by the way! And oh, the irony…

"A Hobbit was seated here," the Ranger breathed quietly in amazement, "and the other, next to him." He paused to stare at the ground with a critical gaze, analyzing the unintentional tracks made by Merry and Pippin. "The two of them crawled on hands and knees in this direction, as their hands were bound tightly with rope."

Boromir spotted the rock that I had recently examined, tapped the other male on the shoulder, and gestured to the spot in the distance. Immediately, Aragorn struggled to his tired feet and slowly moved towards the intended target, gray eyes intent upon the ground. A single hand reached down to retrieve the frayed piece of broken rope, which had belonged to one of the Hobbits. Pippin had cut the length of rope on a sharp rock, before turning to help his older cousin do the same. Merry and Pippin were free, safe, and alive. Thank the Valar!

Needlessly, Aragorn added, "Their bonds were cut!" With hopeful murmurs, the lanky male followed the rail of flattened grass, broken brown twigs, and crushed pebbles. "Merry and Pippin appeared to have run this way, but were followed by one of our enemies…"

Legolas continued after his younger friend, as did the rest of our group, before turning to gaze down at me with an unreadable expression on his ancient face. He curiously queried, "Why did you not tell him that the young ones were alive?" Ice blue eyes had been watching me whilst I examined the rope and rock a moment ago. "He would not have been angry with you, then."

I smiled softly at that obvious statement and stared at the tall, kind, and handsome male that had slowly stolen, and bruised, my fragile heart. Aragorn was the leader of the broken Fellowship, too. Although there were not as many of us as their might have been at the beginning of this journey, we were supposed to stick together – through thick and thin, good and bad.

Protecting Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli was more important to me than anything else in the world. More important than reuniting with my brother. More important than living.

"Because Aragorn needed to figure that out for himself, Legolas," I quietly answered the ancient creature with a small and sad smile. "Even if that meant that he had to step on my feelings to do so." All the while, I stared longingly at the one person capable of breaking my heart: Aragorn.

"Dear child…" Legolas lowered his blue eyes to my own, paused in consideration, and then softly, almost tenderly, asked, "Are you in love with him?"

"What?" I stiffened at the question that had been haunting my own thoughts for days, nights, and even weeks. My lips twisted upwards into a nervous smile. "No! No, no, no! I'm n-n-not in love w-with him!" I stuttered, but that was all the proof that either of them needed – that, and my blush. "Not Aragorn!"

A soft but audible curse reached my ears, before dark brown eyes widely darted towards the aforementioned blush. Gimli froze in disbelief, swore more loudly than before, and rubbed a tired hand over misty eyes. "Oh, lass…"

Apparently, Gimli understood the secret that I had been so desperate to keep from the others these past two months. I was falling in love with Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, and the future King of Gondor.

And I did not want them to know for that very reason. Because the future King of Gondor would not be allowed to marry a commoner, even though I had been from an upper middle class family back in my own world. I was not of noble birth, whereas Aragorn had the blue blood of kings running through his veins. It was impossible for the two of us to fall in love with each other.

_Because it would end in heartbreak. _My heart pounded briefly against my ribcage, fearful of the sensation building within itself. _No more heartbreak. _I could practically hear my sobbing heart scream the panicked words into my brain, desperate to make the more rational organ understand and override the stupid emotions dictating my actions. _Please, I can't survive another broken heart!_ Not again, not again, not again. _His name was Seth._

Boromir was completely oblivious, as always, to the turmoil boiling just beneath the surface of my mind, heart, and soul. "Ah, yes!" The blonde Gondorian grinned down at me, amused, and smugly stated, "I knew that you would accept his advances!"

I, on the other hand, was beyond pissed. For the first time in a very long time, I lost every ounce of control over my raging temper. It had reached a critical level, rushed through each of the sixty thousand miles of capillaries, veins, and arteries in my body, and burst through the roof. In other words, I went off the deep end. And I growled loudly at the three stunned males, berating them all for taking advantage of the situation by acting like assholes. For not trusting in my words…

Oh, God. That hurt more than anything else.

No one trusted me.

"Fuck you, Boromir," I said, coldly, and with the trademark sneer that had darkened by pale face so many times in the past, during the time that I had decided to act like a bitch. That was before I changed for them, though. And that hurt, too.

I had become a stronger, smarter, and better person – for them! And yet, the four of them insisted on treating me like a worthless piece of shit. Their condescending gestures, the jokes made at my expense, and the secretive words exchanged at night, after I had supposedly fallen asleep in my old bedroll. The pain of being excluded from their little group left me in a state of breathless, heartbroken calm.

"Little one…" Boromir recoiled after speaking the affectionate endearment. The words were quiet and broken, as though he had tried to stifle the sound of his hurt. He pleaded with me, whispering, "I am sorry!"

"And I don't care," I muttered, effectively ending the conversation with those four – incredibly harsh – words.

But, I did care, and much more than I would ever admit, too. I was still upset that Boromir had treated me in such a horrid manner earlier this afternoon, though, because he was even dearer to my heart than Aragorn. And I had saved his life. He was supposed to be grateful, dammit! Not that I expected him to bow down before me or anything. A little understanding, however, would have been nice. Trusting in my decisions would've been a nice gesture, as well.

None of that had taken part in this conversation. So, I ignored his teasing words, as well as the pained expression on his face, in favor of following Aragorn. The Ranger continued onwards, memorizing details concerning the path that the two small males had taken in their haste to get away. Eventually, Aragorn came across their tiny footsteps, which had been covered in others much larger than their own, including the curved imprints of large horseshoes. It was hard to determine, but…

"The tracks lead _away _from the battle!" Aragorn exclaimed, almost happily, and with a satisfied smirk plastered on his lips. That happiness died, however, upon determining the destination of those tracks.

Oddly enough, Boromir had not recovered from my words, and his steel gray eyes darted in my direction, before he quietly asked, "What exactly is the name of this strange land, Aragorn?"

The Ranger groaned, then, as though answering this question only made it seem all the more real for our little group. He covered the wary glint in his eyes with a gloved hand, softly muttering to himself and fiddling with the taped hilt of his sword. After a moment, Aragorn chose to respond to the question, thusly putting a strain on the already tense atmosphere.

"…Fangorn Forest…"

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**Life really freakin' sucks sometimes, you know? ** ^^; I've been trying to get ready to transfer to a new college in the Fall to get my Bachelor's Degree. And I recently started a new job, so I've been busy learning the ropes - and covering shifts for my sick friend. He still owes me, but Caleb also bought me a new video game, so... ;P

Anyway! Enough about that, since you guys probably don't care. LOL **I am finally updating all of my stories.** Two down, and two to go! Woohoo~! Go, me! XD

As always, **please review** or **add me** to your **alerts/favorites.** And, as always, **thanks** to those that have already done so, and those that read this story! :) If I can, I'd like to get **about 170 reviews, please!** In your review, **please tell me** if you think that **Aragorn and Sammy should get married in the sequel or not.** Thanks! :D


	22. Chapter 21:  Never Never Land

~Chapter Twenty One~

Never Never Land

_More Than You Know It, I'm Aware  
>Of This Connection That We Share.<br>I Know It Seems Like Sometimes, I Don't Care,  
>But You Are the Colors That I Wear.<em>

_If I Have Been Thoughtless, Let Me Know.  
>I Can Take A Hint, Though I'm A Little Slow.<br>Don't Keep It In You, Lest It Take Root and Grow.  
>The Bottom Line Here's I Love You So.<em>

_~3 AM,_ by Poets of the Fall

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Oddly enough, Boromir had not recovered from my words, and his steel gray eyes darted in my direction, before he quietly asked, "What exactly is the name of this strange land, Aragorn?"<strong>

**The Ranger groaned, then, as though answering this question only made it seem all the more real for our little group. He covered the wary glint in his eyes with a gloved hand, softly muttering to himself and fiddling with the taped hilt of his sword. After a moment, Aragorn chose to respond to the question, thusly putting a strain on the already tense atmosphere.**

**"…Fangorn Forest…"**

* * *

><p>As expected, Fangorn Forest was vast, dark, cold, and incredibly creepy. Those four adjectives, however, couldn't possibly begin to explain the extent of the feeling rippling through these trees. The entire forest appeared to exude an immensely dark sense of foreboding, one that had warned those within our group to turn around and leave almost immediately. We did nothing of the sort, fearing nothing but the loss of time, and continued down the makeshift path of leaves leading into Fangorn Forest.<p>

Soft laughter bubbled upwards and into my throat, and I chuckled to myself at the weird thoughts churning within my mind. Damn. I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu, because it felt like I was going to bring cookies to Grandma. Follow the yellow brick road and all that shit. Summoning the Fairy Godmother, defeating Maleficent, and kissing Prince Charming. Like in all of those childhood stories, myths, fables, and fairytales, you know?

_Happily Ever After…_

And then, I promptly ruined the sweet memories of childhood stories by being too observant. I'd just spotted several rotting corpses – humans, dogs, and the odd rodent – strewn amongst several piles of fresh leaves that littered the forest floor. No one else had been bothered by the sight of those dead creatures, though. Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and Legolas _were_ warriors, and each had the stereotypical stomach of steel.

I, on the other hand, was squeamish and hated the thought, smell, or sight of blood. Every single muscle in my body appeared to tense in anticipation and fear at the possibility of losing that precious source of life. Death did not scare me. Not anymore. The thought of leaving my precious ones – Seth, Boromir, Aragorn – to fend for themselves, however…

My retching, though quiet, had still brought **his** attention to the dead bodies – and myself.

My heart skipped one, two, and three beats at the thought of having his stormy eyes connect with mine. I would be able to smile at him. And Aragorn would smile back at me. Simple affections like that – a cheeky smile or a soft laugh – made it all worthwhile. Perhaps I might even get to feel his strong arms around my waist, his fingers tangled in my hair, or his lips pressed to my cheek. Because I wanted him to relent and take pity on me. I wanted him to apologize for hurting me. I wanted him to hug me. And I wanted…

**I wanted him to love me. **

Aragorn did not suddenly return to his normally sweet self, and he did not apologize, either. He merely continued stomping through the undergrowth, his stormy eyes glaring into the darkness of Fangorn Forest. The Ranger had also steadfastly refused to glance backwards, towards me. Aragorn refused to look at me. Out of desperation, I had tugged roughly at his sleeve, only to have him pointedly remove my fingers from the black material. Like I was a child. Stupid, obnoxious, and loud. Worthless.

Brokenly, I stared down at my nasty black sneakers, sniffled, and quietly whispered, "_I'm so sorry…_" Knowing that Aragorn could not – no, **would** not – hear me.

As I had feared, those words did indeed fall short of his ears, and the sounds of that broken apology softly drifted along within the silence of the forest, before wholly dissipating into cold nothingness. The Ranger remained oblivious to those words, because something else had caught his attention. He paused momentarily to inspect the brown dirt, falling into a crouch ahead of the others, his stormy eyes wide with surprise. Two sets of tracks were encased, almost fossilized, beneath the mound of dirt at his feet.

Merry and Pippin had been here.

A bark of laughter escaped from between my parted lips. And I smiled widely at him, in spite of the undercurrents of electricity jolting back and forth between both of us – the confusion, and the curiosity, and the uncertainty. Instead, I read between the lines and focused upon the positively wonderful news that had been hidden within this discovery. Finding two separate sets of tracks, and dozens of tiny footprints, meant that we were on the right trail, closer to reuniting with our companions!

"Incredible…" Amazed, Aragorn touched the ground with slender fingers, as though afraid to ruin the various imprints that had been made in the soft, green moss. He smirked lightly. "To think that Merry and Pippin escaped by themselves!"

Boromir laughed loudly at that last sentence, before nodding his head in agreement and jokingly declaring, "One should not underestimate those of the Shire!"

Another laugh trickled down his tongue, through the silence of the night, and into the dreary wilderness. Oddly enough, Fangorn Forest did not seem as scary anymore; it was without the grim respect that the Fellowship had grudgingly bestowed upon its lands at first sight. Like the Methodists, Protestants, and Catholics. Each of them attended the services at their local church and blindly worshipped their God, the latter of whom none could hear or see. He was invisible.

Oromë's words exploded within my quiet mind, almost blinding in their intensity, and screamed. _You refer to him as __**God**__. _Louder, and louder, and louder, I could hear him. _In your time of need, you prayed to him, and he has chosen now to answer your prayers. _Blinking, I inhaled sharply, allowing my pink lips to tilt upwards, taking the form of a small albeit thankful smile at the memory of being helped by the one person in the world I hadn't thought existed. _I wish…_

Fuck, I wanted to laugh then, too! My lips, however, remained glued shut and as stubbornly silent as a grave in the midst of daylight. I did not want to visibly indulge in this happiness that nipped at the fresh wounds on my heart, courtesy of Aragorn the Arrogant Asshole. Not under any circumstances. Doing so would be akin to dancing around like an idiot, flapping my arms, and happily screaming, **_"I fucking told you so!" _**

Which, I admitted, the Ranger did deserve to hear, especially after being such an insufferable jackass. And I'd also have to admit that hearing his apology for acting like that would instill the utmost satisfaction within me. It was a pretty sick desire, to be certain, but totally called for – given the circumstances, anyway. He had questioned my judgment – and then, my motives – before placing the blame for the entire situation on my small, shaking shoulders. Aragorn deserved to be hurt, because he had hurt me. Eye for an eye.

Nevertheless, I decided to keep my stupid mouth shut. I wanted to avoid telling him off for his actions, sensing that it would be too much for him to handle, though this heart of mine thought otherwise. He could probably handle it. Reprimanding the stronger, smarter, and much older male would definitely embarrass him, though. If I were the individual that called him out, the situation would be much worse, too. It would also be akin to taking two steps back, instead of three steps forward in our game of Life.

_Do **Not** Pass _**_'Go!' _**I stupidly wanted to screech into the canals of his bleeding ears, over and over and over again, until the moment that the foreign reference made sense in this world. _Do **Not** Collect **$200!**_

My teeth clicked against my cheeks, which I had stupidly puffed outwards, hoping to stifle the frantic bout of laughter that threatened to escape. The relief burning inside my chest could be noticed from outer space, I'd bet. Everyone within the Fellowship shared that painfully cold relief, though, and that desperate need to make light of the situation. It was evident in the manner of familiar calm easing over our group. There were tears and laughter. Joy.

No one would take too kindly to my obnoxious laughter, though, a sound that had been likened to hyenas cackling and shrieking. I had to clench my teeth together and bite my tongue to avoid falling into the hysterics that threatened to consume me. All was quiet in my mind, body, and soul, with the exception of the pained wails that whispered in the innermost sanctuary. My battered heart had been broken into two halves – one for him, and one for little ol' me.

_Love. _Shaking fingers reached upwards to grasp at the golden chain circling my neck, tracing the lines of writing within the ring clasped at its end. _Love will _**_always_**_ prevail. _That thought alone almost ruined that vow of silence. _Yeah, right! _Thankfully, I was successful in the attempt to stay silent, falling into the darkness of self pity without any of their notice. _You Sank My Battleship, Aragorn…_

Laughter did not come to me, in spite of the silly references swimming around and around in my head, like koi fish. The disgust, hatred, frustration, and anger remained tightly bottled up inside my heart, instead, because that was the only way that I knew how to deal with the stress of being a respectful and mature adult in the eyes of these brave individuals. I was attempting to come of age with grace, but that was a difficult feat to accomplish. It was almost impossible, because I was a product of the horrible environment that I had been raised in. My father believed that I could sink or swim, with or without his help. Nobody but Seth even cared if I drowned.

Being able to cook, shop, and make money were only three of the many necessary skills needed to survive in our world. Growing up, I hadn't been given any instructions or advice in regards to these matters. Parents generally taught their children those valuable skills; however, Seth and I had raised each other, making various mistakes along the way and allowing the other sibling to learn from them. Our learning curve had been set by the cruel and abusive father that ruled his world – because it did belong to him, it seemed – with an **iron** fist.

Of course, I did not think of him as a role model, and nobody else should, either. He hated me, and I hated him. Yet I had come to respect him, because of his brilliant mind and the abundant self confidence with which he carried himself. My father was an amazing man, but he enjoyed hurting others and slowly destroying their spirits, bit by bit, until nothing remained of their precious hopes and dreams. My Twin and I, his children, were no exception.

_His name was Seth._

Silently, I turned my attention back to the surrounding greenery, a world of bleak hopelessness. My blue eyes wandered over the gnarled trees, wrinkled bushes, and the waves of brown grass that blanketed the dirt. I was witness to the slow creation of this surreal painting surrounding me, one that had been punctuated with hues of empty black, cold blue, and violent purple, the colors of bruises. All had been perceived in the darkest colors of paint.

Simply _reading_ about the famed Fangorn Forest had actually given me nightmares. Now, I was actually_ standing_ within Fangorn Forest, and it was an eerie experience, to be certain…

As though reading my mind, Legolas lifted his blue gaze and warily murmured, "This forest is indeed an ancient being, my friends…" He hesitantly turned towards me, paused for the briefest of seconds, and quietly added, "There are many memories within this forest, and anger, too."

I raised my right eyebrow at the (less than) subtle remark, knowing that had been directed at my personality as of late, too. Yes, I desperately wanted to be their friend, and that need had been the fuel behind the drive in my heart to evolve into another person entirely. But I had always made a point of stubbornly distancing myself from this group with my memories of home, however bitter, and of Seth.

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam! _Thoughts – and memories – of my brother grounded me, made it possible to turn away from their guilty expressions. _Call my name, you know who I am!_

My brother's name was in my mouth, hanging from my tongue, waiting to be whispered into the air. _His name… _Yet I found the sentimental thoughts within my mind centering around another person entirely. _His name was…_ I haltingly whispered the name to myself, savoring the taste of it as it darted across my pink lips. _"…__**Aragorn.**__"_

God, I loved him so much that _it_…_fucking_…**_hurt!_**

"Listen!" Legolas exclaimed, whirling around to stare at the silver weapon clasped tightly between the hands of his rival, Gimli. He closed his blue eyes, savoring the sounds, and whispered the warning – "The trees are speaking to each other!"

Surprised, Aragorn was quick to motion for the shorter male to fall into the passive stance, and he hissed, "Lower your weapon, Gimli!" The Ranger waited impatiently for him to do so, settling down only after his demands were met.

"Aye…" Gimli finally complied, though with surprise of his own, and made to place greater distance between himself and the trees, seemingly afraid of their quiet groaning.

The Elf smiled softly at them, and with laughter etched into the lines around his mouth. "These trees have feelings, too, my friend," said Legolas of the Woodland Realm, all the while gesturing to the surrounding forest with respect.

My blue eyes were sad, and that small smile on my pink lips bitter, as I thought: _So do I, Legolas… _

Yeah. I was still angry about the fact that Aragorn had rudely snapped at me, especially since this was one of the few times that it was not actually deserved – this part of the storyline was one that I had absolutely no control over. None at all. Our companions – or rather, his companions – had still jumped to the defense of their leader, Aragorn, before ignoring my stifling presence altogether. After all, I was only the little misfit, the outcast, the runt of the litter. No one important…

Gimli snorted quietly to himself, before pointing to the large gashes in the trunk of the nearest tree. He bluntly stated, "And I take it that the beasts at fault for hurting yer precious plants were sweet enough to take their wishes to mind first, aye?"

Various trees carried similar scars over innocent bark. It was an awful sight to behold, and one that would stay with me, too. My lips trembled, before parting and forming the words to the question in my mind: _What the fuck kinda creature did all of this shit, Aragorn? _

The words had been lost within my mind, though, and I hadn't been able to find them, let alone speak them aloud. I was much too scared to face Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, and the future King of Gondor. Too damn scared to see a glimmer of disgust in his eyes, too goddamn scared to hear an ounce of hatred in his voice, and too goddamn motherfucking scared to speak with him face to face. Too scared to face Aragorn. After all, I was a stupid little brat, and a coward, too.

_What the fuck is wrong with me? _

Of course, Gimli shared those fears, and he opened his mouth to speak them for the both of us, whispering them in his thick brogue. _What manner o' creature did this much damage to the foliage, eh? _The Ranger had bluntly informed him, and the others, that several breeds of carnivorous spiders been known to make their nests in this forest. Surprise!

Yes, I was upset with Aragorn, and that sarcasm was proof of that frustration. I was not overly worried about this new information, however, because handling the bow and arrow was slowly becoming second nature to me. Even Legolas had to admit that my skills had improved. As for my magic, however…

When Boromir grimly announced the arrival of eight of the beasts sometime later, I did not seek refuge from the battle, like I had during the arrival of the Riders of Rohan. I was not afraid to stand tall and fight, or to die. In fact, I was eager to prove myself to them by killing one. But Aragorn had failed to mention that the aforementioned beasts were each about the size of the new Ford Explorer 2012. He hadn't thought it worth mentioning, it seemed. Damn Ranger!

And I had seen one, screamed bloody murder, and tripped over a rock jutting outwards from the dirt. Every thought of working hard to prove myself vanished in that instant. My body reacted instinctively, exploding into music and projecting the magical music notes into a shield around my small form. Once the defense had been taken care of, I immediately took the offensive and began shooting dozens of large fireballs at two of the hairy monstrosities. Burning them both to a crisp and watching the horrific beasts fall to the ground in a puddle of black mush, like melted marshmallows.

God, I **hated** spiders…

Needless to say, I really wanted to refuse traveling further into that damn forest. Not without a shotgun in my right palm, anyway. _Scratch that!_ I wanted several machine guns and ten boxes of bullets strapped to my sides. Fangorn Forest, and all of its lovely spider accessories, had to lead straight into the pits of Hell. Its literary likeness could only be found in the form of the Forbidden Woods, from _Harry Potter._ Even then, I'd have to exponentially multiply the aforementioned dark and creepy factor by **ten**!

Such feelings of animosity towards the creepy place were warranted, though, I figured. Animals and trees alike were constantly staring down at us with this hungry glow in their beady ol' eyes, after all. Just watching and waiting for that opportune moment, like the cat stalking the mouse through the empty hallways. Games like that had this tendency to mess with the players, too. Someone on the good side would always forget themselves and make the first mistake.

As hardened warriors, of course, it would take the others quite some time before that happened, because their training dictated that each of their senses remain alert at all times. The Elves and the Rangers of the North were especially prudent in this defensive act of constantly watching their surroundings, often for hours without reprieve. Both Legolas and Aragorn were prime examples of that fact. Boromir, though lazy at times, had his moments, too. And Gimli…

"Well, I'll be damned!" The Dwarf had drifted from the group, thusly finding a substance that the rest of the Fellowship had yet to notice. He reached forward to gather a small handful of the black substance, before bringing it to his lips. Making a face of disgust, Gimli explained, "'tis Orc blood!"

I bit back a small snort of dark amusement, if only to hide the fact that I had found that comment to be funny at all. The laughter was coughed into my palm to disguise the sound, instead. I was, after all, still incredibly pissed off at the other members of the Fellowship. Not a single one of them had thought to apologize for their earlier actions – well, with the exception of those few hastily spoken words whispered by Boromir, anyway.

_Little one, I am sorry._

And I knew that from the depths of my soul, too. Boromir had always been the one to apologize for hurting me, even if I had been the one to start an argument or cause pain to another. Like the time that I had been bored and decided to practice spellcasting, ultimately burning the shit out of his calloused hands. He had merely gathered my smaller form in his arms, grasped tightly at my waist, and whispered those three simple words to me.

_I am sorry._

My guardian did not count in this instance, though, because he had been the one to cause the first stitch in my still healing heart to come undone, ripping through the tender thread without thought or care. He was my very best friend from the moment that the two of us met – the father figure that I had always wanted but never seen in the man that raised Seth and I. I loved him. And I could not bring myself to forgive him for making lightly of those feelings.

_Sorry._

Tears trickled slowly down my cheeks, one after the other, until the rate at which the salty water followed that path steadily increased in speed. I sniffled and coughed twice in an attempt to stop the godforsaken waterworks. Each teardrop continued racing over my clammy skin at the speed of light, though. Now, I could feel them swiftly slipping down between my eyes, over my nose, and then gathering in the thick groove above my shaking lips to rest beside the nasty mess that already resided there. Snot had begun steadily dripping down from my nose and towards my mouth, like thick strands of yellow confetti. Happy Birthday, Sammy!

Yeah. Seth and I had been born twenty one years ago today. And I had completely forgotten that fact until this morning, at which point the Fellowship had entered Fangorn Forest, intent on searching for the Hobbits, Merry and Pippin. I did not mention it, though, because wave upon wave of red hot anger – and the underlying worry – was rushing to the surface. My heart was practically _begging_ for the words to be screamed into the darkness of the night.

_I…__**hate**__…you!_

Cursing to myself, I hastily swiped both hands across my swollen face, attempting to hide the tearstains that marred my skin. Come to think of it, though, the tears would probably be rather difficult to see, as most were hidden by the large amount of dirt that caked the thick meat of my cheeks. My heart ached with the realization. 'Cause I was a weak little girl that couldn't love anyone. And I did not deserve to be loved, either.

At that last thought, I succumbed to the feelings rushing through my veins, and several tears brimmed beneath my eyelashes, which were closed tightly against the world around me. I still continued to walk across the forest floor, though, my nose in the air and my head held high. My hands reached up to slap the chubby flesh beneath my watery eyes, causing a prickling sensation that effectively crashed through the pity party that I had instigated. Population: Me, Myself, and I.

And I pretended that everything was going to be alright, even though I stumbled once or twice in the darkness, before falling to the ground with a soft cry of startled pain. The rocks beneath my form were sharp, too, and ripped through the broken and worn cloth of the jeans clinging to my shaking legs. Blood seeped through the denim, blossoming from beneath my skin and staining the blue material of my jeans with hues of brown, black, and red. Like the eyes of…**Death.**

_Sacrifice yourself for him._

I stared at the thick puddle of blood with wide eyes, my mind already racing back to the days that the world seemed to conspire against my brother and me. Bruises, scraped skin, torn ligaments, and broken bones were a common occurrence in our lives back then, thanks to our father, the idiotic bullies at school, and the occasional mishap with one of the horses in the stables or training fields. Life on the ranch was a mildly difficult one at times.

However, I could handle the intense pain in those situations, because those were also the days that Seth would come running down the length of the driveway and into the training field, his first aid kit in tow. Two green eyes would wander over my form, frantically searching for the cause of those pained screams. And I would whisper that one of the horses had accidentally kicked me. Because I didn't want to upset him with the fact that dear ol' Daddy drunkenly followed me. Or that Daddy had screamed, cried, and threw a punch at me, one that had connected with my stomach. It was five o' clock somewhere, I guessed…

Seth had always been there for me, though, regardless of the reason. He would always tenderly bandage my wounds with gauze and tape. Then, Seth would always lift me upwards, to the sky, and twirl the two of us around and around and around in a circle, singing songs by Skillet and Lady Antebellum to distract me from the pain. Always.

_His name was Seth._

Through the tears, I could only discern the identity of three of the blurred images wandering through the forest in front of me. One had mysteriously vanished from my sights, leaving the others to walk backwards, towards the direction that the Fellowship had already traveled. That person was probably doubling back in order to patrol the surrounding trees and bushes, searching for remains of the enemy. We did not want to be caught unawares whilst on such unfamiliar soil, especially in this forest. Not in a million years.

So, I returned my attention to the ground and pretended to be knotting my old shoelaces together, focusing on the bright patterns shining through the layers of dirt that had been caked atop my red sneakers. Little designs of winged black hearts and cartooned skulls could still be seen beneath the cracks – if I looked hard enough for them, anyway. Just like those memories deep within myself of the Sammy that I used to be, the tough bitch with the attitude problem and love of sarcasm.

A delicate hand suddenly appeared within my line of sight, the likes of which could only belong to one person, and one that I had not expected to help me. I swallowed and hesitantly glanced upwards, surprised to find that my assumptions in this matter were actually correct. Soft eyes gazed into my own and hot breath washed over my skin. The scent of the forest whispered through my nostrils.

"Come to me, sweet child," Legolas kindly whispered, before opening the palm of his hand in emphasis, as though in placation. Like a man approaching a wary and frightened animal.

I could only raise my arms into the air, timidly holding them in a position that appeared to remind the ancient creature of children. His blue eyes were soft with affection, and he smiled tenderly at the sight. Laughing, Legolas gently placed his hands under my upper arms, pulling my smaller form to his lanky one and lifting us upwards. We were spinning around and around and around in a circle. Like Seth and I had loved to do all of those years ago. Always.

And I could not help but smile up at him in return.

"We should return, before the others notice that I have come to your aid," Legolas murmured, and with a gentle twinkle in his blue eyes. He grinned lightly at the less than eager expression on my face. "We would not want them to think ill of me, now, would we?"

I laughed at the jest and leaned into his hold, savoring the touch of another person, even if that person was renowned for always verbally attacking me. Time and time again, I had wanted – no, wished, and pleaded, and begged the Valar – to have someone willing to stand at my side during the various ups and downs of this confusing journey. Legolas had decided to step forward and claim that position, offering his help to me in a moment that Aragorn and Boromir would not.

_Well, I guess that my wish has been granted by the Valar, after all, _I thought, then, feeling both amused and perplexed at this strange turn of events. _And Oromë has a rather strange sense of humor, too. _My lips twitched faintly. _Go figure, right?_

"Yeah," I whispered into his wrinkled tunic, knowing that Legolas would still hear my muffled words through the fabric. "We wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and realize that you have an actual heart, now, would we?"

Though mocking in nature, I had spoken those words back to him because I had been raised that way. My Twin and I were also firm believes that laughter was the best medicine, though I had taken it to another level entirely. Joking and making fun of people directly to their faces had become a sign of honest affection in my eyes. Seth, for example, was a prime target of those sarcastic jibes and pranks. And I loved him so much that it physically _hurt_ to be parted from him. Almost as much as it hurt being separated from Aragorn…

"He feels badly for hurting you," Legolas suddenly blurted, as though the words had been resting on the tip of his tongue for weeks, instead of hours. He nervously cleared his throat and, also unnecessarily, added, "Aragorn, I mean."

"Why doesn't Aragorn apologize to me, then?" I asked, watching my small index fingers twist themselves through the belt loops at my waist, instead of staring into his blue eyes, both of which were analyzing my every move.

"Samantha," Legolas whispered softly, "It is not my place to speak for Aragorn, because only he can explain the depth of his feelings for his little one." His blue eyes caught the desperation in my own, and he placed his hand atop mine, squeezing the limb tenderly. "I am sorry."

I considered that statement for a moment, before ultimately nodding in acceptance, appeased for the moment. It was his decision, after all, and the ancient creature had experience with this sort of situation – not to mention experience with the strong and stubborn Aragorn. The two of them were well versed in the mannerisms of the other. If Legolas thought that Aragorn would not approve of his answer, then I would be silent and wait for him to speak of it, instead.

"Thank you, Legolas," I muttered, and moved three fingers around his slender hand, squeezing the limb lightly with my own. My mouth twisted in the shadow of its usual smile. "For having a heart, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at that hasty addition to my words of thanks. "'tis no trouble, child." Kindly, Legolas smiled down at me, removed his hand from mine, and asked, "Should I lead or carry you back to our companions, then?"

My arm was still broken, but the limb did not hurt as much anymore, making it possible to wield the bow and arrow – with care, anyway. The grimace upon my pink lips, however, had arisen for a different reason entirely. A sudden tightening in and around my stomach signified that I would need to change my panties again, and soon. I obediently moved to follow the instructions that my weary mind continued to hiss at my cramping stomach, before screeching to a stop.

Slowly, I stared into the gaze of Legolas, embarrassed, and then glanced away again, to a small grove of trees at the edge of the river. Legolas blinked owlishly at the tense muscles repeatedly clenching and unclenching within my jaw, before comprehension dawned brightly within his knowing gaze. My blue eyes quickly darted towards the three remaining members of the group, and I noted that not a single one of them had noticed the departure of their unwanted companion, save for the ever watchful Legolas. The Elf smiled and turned his back to me, the silent signal that he would not speak of this to them.

Feeling thankful for their neglect, I darted towards the trees and moved to ready myself above a patch of dry grass. I loosened the fastenings of the backpack strapped to my shoulders, dropped it to the ground, and removed the necessities from its innermost pockets, including a package of tampons and clean panties. Both had been summoned four days ago, at the start of the slow trek across the Riddermark. Cramps, bloating, and headaches, the typical symptoms of the period, had quickly followed its starting point. After today, though, I would be finished with this monthly cycle of that lovely disease that plagued most women. Good riddance, too!

With that in mind, I quickly relieved myself in the bushes, before cleaning the slimy strands of blood from between my dirty thighs. Another tampon was inserted in its proper place, and the packaging, tissues, and old water bottle were returned to their places in the bottom of the old traveling pack. My panties, leggings, socks, and skinny jeans were also pulled upwards again, back to their old resting place at my waist, which had decreased almost two inches in size since my arrival in Middle Earth.

Water was continually rushing by within the confines of the riverbed behind me. I turned to face the river and, out of curiosity, examined the clear reflection of the strange young woman staring back at me. Her blue eyes were wide, rimmed with a set of black eyelashes and surrounded by several thick smudges of dirt. Infinite sadness glimmered in those sky blue depths, but it was rather hard to discern, in part because of the blood and dirt clinging to the hollows above and beneath them. The young woman sighed and blinked sluggishly up at me. She looked tired, heartbroken, and miserable.

The rest of her thin face seemed hard in comparison, though, toughened by the past that seemed to cling to the fibers of her being. Her expression was softened only by the childishly upturned nose, pink cheeks, and thin lips, both of which were parted slightly in surprise. Sky blue eyes were greedily drinking in the image on the other side of the Looking Glass. My identical blue gaze swiftly followed suit, taking in every single aspect and feature of the girl on the other side of the river. And I was surprised to find that this young woman was incredibly familiar, too.

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam!_

Somehow, I had transformed into a smaller and healthier version of the old Sammy. The stark truth was evident in the manner with which the girl seemed to hold herself. This Sammy was strong, with lightly muscled limbs and a smaller waist – her hips, backside, and breasts had dropped about two sizes, but all three areas were still large, almost perfect for childbearing. Stronger Sammy carried herself with this noble dignity, as though she had always been consciously aware of her femininity and the changes occurring within her body.

This Sammy was confident, and for that, she was strangely beautiful. A few nasty pimples, split ends, chipped nails, and dirty body piercings did nothing to deter Stronger Sammy from holding her blonde head high. Because Stronger Sammy had survived the verbal and physical abuse of her birth father, the death of her brother, and the cold criticism of countless people, mortal and otherwise. Her confidence had taken time to obtain. It had not been an easy journey, either.

_I wish…_

Several leaves were released from their resting place amongst the fragile treetops, and the soft, green plants drifted downwards, before falling into the clutches of the river. My own reflection shimmered briefly, whirling around the clump of leaves that had landed just over my heart and disappearing in a circle of ripples. I blinked twice in surprise, sighing at the realization that the evidence of those changes had suddenly vanished into this air, as though it had never existed in the first place. My hands drifted to my smile, blue eyes, waist, and breasts, tracing each feature with curious fingertips. It was a bit strange to think that I had become this young woman. Samantha May Steel had truly been reborn.

_**Crack!**_

Suddenly, I whirled around and squinted into the darkness. I removed an arrow from the quiver upon my back, placed it to the string, and raised the bow in my cold hands to focus above my silent form, into the canopy of the forest. Because I had caught the tail end of a soft creaking noise, the likes of which sent every hair upon my arms, legs, head, and the back of my neck standing to attention.

Another crack drifted through the silent forest, and yet another clump of leaves dropped into the river, only to be swallowed whole by the rushing of the water. After the ripples retreated, I could stare into my reflection once more, into the empty blue eyes of the woman in the water. She and I simultaneously reached upwards to place a shaking hand atop the gaping wounds at the side of our neck. Blood trickled down the snow white flesh and into the clear water, softly painting the reflection of the monster behind us with splashes of ruby red. And I smiled, welcoming sweet slumber with open arms.

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**I'm sorry** that this is a few days late, folks! As usual, I got caught up in work, life, and general laziness. Hopefully, this length and direction of this chapter make up for that delay. ;)

Oh, I wanted to share something with you all, too! I was surfing the 'net earlier today, and I (supposedly) found the **Elvish translations** for the **names** of the Steel siblings! **Seth** apparently means **"Appointed,"** which I find amusing, due to his military background and the fact that his sister appointed him her protector. **Sammy, oddly enough, means "Lister of God." ** And **Sammy** has that thing for **talking to Oromë and Death,** right? I have been smiling at my computer screen like an idiot for the past hour! X'D

Anyway, **I'd love to get about 190 reviews for this chapter,** if at all possible. **Don't forget** that there are **only five chapters left** before the end of the story, and then, the **sequel!** **Let me know in your review if you have any requests/ideas/etcetera for the end of this one or the beginning of the next, okay? **

Peace out, peeps!


	23. Chapter 22: Facing My Inner Demons

~Chapter Twenty Two~

Facing My Inner Demons

_Did You See That I Was Hurt?  
>Did You Know That You Had Left Me Crying There?<br>Now, I'm Holding All Your Words Close, Till You Feel This Pain, Too.  
>While I Thought Somehow This Hate Would Heal Me, But This Hate Is Never Ending,<br>And It's Only Killing Me._

_Break My Chains;  
>Won't See This Through.<br>'Cause Setting You Free Means My Freedom, Too._

_~Sweet Revenge,_ by Barlow Girl

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Suddenly, I whirled around and squinted into the darkness. I removed an arrow from the quiver upon my back, placed it to the string, and raised the bow in my cold hands to focus above my silent form, into the canopy of the forest. Because I had caught the tail end of a soft creaking noise, the likes of which sent every hair upon my arms, legs, head, and the back of my neck standing to attention.<strong>

**Another crack drifted through the silent forest, and yet another clump of leaves dropped into the river, only to be swallowed whole by the rushing of the water. After the ripples retreated, I could stare into my reflection once more, into the empty blue eyes of the woman in the water. She and I simultaneously reached upwards to place a shaking hand atop the gaping wounds at the side of our neck. Blood trickled down the snow white flesh and into the clear water, softly painting the reflection of the monster behind us with splashes of ruby red. And I smiled, welcoming sweet slumber with open arms.**

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><p>Darkness screamed into the night, clutching at my clammy hands with thick tendrils of black pain and bloodstained nightmares, the shadowed imprints of hands, and fingers, and claws. I writhed desperately against its hold, fighting the wretched onslaught of those hated memories, helplessly shrieking for a reprieve – <em><strong>any at all!<strong>_ No one answered to those cries, though, and I was mercilessly buried beneath the crushing weight of the cold shame and the whispers of guilt associated with his, my, _our _childhood.

"'There's a yellow brick road that we follow back home, 'cause I know you can't wait, with your belligerent **hate**,'" I bitterly whispered the lyrics, softly hummed the following notes, and then continued to the next few lines. "There's no place like home, there's no place home, like _home…!_"

All the black and white images of that godforsaken house, the old ranch that rested alongside the icy mountains and the surrounding halo of pine trees, slowly awakened within a sea of lonely colors. The bricks were ghostly white, the roof painted midnight black, and the shudders, a mahogany red reminiscent of dried blood. Rusty wind chimes clung to the sagging porch, whispering of the sins committed against the children burning inside its empty belly.

Musical notes, colored violent black with rage, clung to my skin. "There's a little white porch, and you wanted it so!" I screamed, the words as raw as my voice, and just as sad, too. Because I had wanted this home. I had wanted to be happy, here, with this family. My father, brother, and little me.

_I wish…_

I gasped for much needed breath, slammed both eyes shut in pain, and bellowed, "'Cause I'm home!" The chorus escaped the silence beneath my skin, desperately seeking oxygen, like I just had been, and then –

A bullet whistled through the air and by my ear, screaming the warning that the shooter did not seem to think necessary to voice. He licked his lips, gathering the bit of tobacco juice at the corners, and viciously spat it at me. "Get the fuck off o' my property, ya fuckin' freak o' nature!"

Caught by surprise and too confused to do much but stare up at him, I hesitantly silenced the music and stupidly remained sitting in the arid pasture grass, my arms and back resting against the warm wall of the barn behind me. I listened absently to the sounds of horses shuffling within the confines of the barn and the cries of the stallions in the pasture, their whinnying drowned out only by the bored calls of the cattle. The sounds, though familiar, made every single hair on my sweaty head stand right on end. This place, could it be…?

_No! _I screeched within my mind, desperately attempting to make sense of the sudden shift from my dream world back to the nightmare of the childhood home that I shared with Seth. _No, no, no, no, no! _My eyes watered harshly, and I tried not to bellow like a wounded bull. _Take me away from here, Oromë! _Silence, harsh and bitter, was my only reply. _Please…_

Heavy! My skin was so incredibly fucking heavy, because his weight crushed into me and his thin form was rubbing against mine, repeating the motions with relish. A barrier of clothes kept him at bay at the moment, but it would not last for long. Hot bile quickly clawed its way up my esophagus, bitter in both the taste and forgotten (repressed, and desperately so) memories. And Seth was not here to keep him from raping me. Not this time.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault._

I thusly had the privilege of feeling him pushing my cold, broken body into the moist grass, restraining me with his iron fists and whispered threats of what was to come. He tightened his grip upon my makeshift necklace, causing the thin chain digging into my skin to tear through the flesh, muscles, and bone. But I was still alive – _alone, all alone and alive_ – and the snapping of bones within my neck did nothing to end the pain of this miserable existence.

No, I could not run away or escape, and I would probably never see my precious brother again, either. This was my own personal Hell! And Daddy was so very right about me, as always. I deserved to **burn** an eternity for my sins. Because I was a sinner, a witch, monster, demon spawn, absolute _filth. _I was a…

**Sacrifice. **

My fate, I remembered at that exact moment, was to sacrifice myself for Aragorn. Not to die at the hands of this monster of the past, a creature born of the darkness, guilt, and shame within me. All those months ago, when I'd ripped myself from this world, body, mind, and soul, I had been reborn. And Oromë _had_ said that the fates of both this world **and** the next one were, in part, dependent upon my survival and subsequent choices. By God, I could not fall victim to this person yet again. An obstinate glare plastered itself to my eyes, nose, and pursed lips, an expression reminiscent of the teenage years. He could **not** triumph!

A sharp hiss escaped from the small line in between his parted, tobacco stained lips, signifying the amusement that whispered through his veins. Such a response to my absolute refusal to fall to my side and bare my neck to him in submission only served to confuse me. As always, I had expected to feel the wrath of his drunken anger, painted red with wine and whiskey. Yet I waited, impatiently and in vain, for the icy slashes of his leather belt ripping across my shoulders, bared to the world like Seth and I always were during his punishments.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…!_

When I was not struck for the insolent expression and the stubborn tilt of the chin, though, I slowly lowered clenched fists, letting them fall to my side with a soft sigh of relief – and confusion. I stepped forward with shaking limbs and hesitantly whispered, "Why?"

Uncharacteristically quiet, Daddy did not respond to my plea, the desperate demand for an answer to all those years of physical, mental, and emotional abuse. He did not darkly whisper his familiar taunts to me, and sweet silence slipped into my open ears. Nevertheless, I could still hear the words echoing in the shadows in my mind; feel them ripping into my wounds like salt in an open wound; taste the tears and the blood; smell the copper; see a smirk. And I could, should, would, always remember his hands upon my neck, beer bottle bashing into my skull, glass cutting bare feet to shreds. Forever, and for always. Amen.

"Why have you always hurt Seth 'n me, eh?" I demanded, and the brusque words were coated with the rich honey of the hardworking rancher that I had been since birth. A snarl roared to life and immediately vanished with the summer winds. "You gotta problem with us, other than the fact that we apparently stole yer wife?"

Daddy gritted his teeth in aggravation, working his jaw to subconsciously crush the thick wad of tobacco between his gums. He sneered at my questions and bitterly muttered, "'Cause I **hate **that you and that blasted boy ain't smart enough to git gone and _stay _gone!"

Somewhere, deep inside the broken heart that I had tried to desperately hold together with duct tape, superglue, and cruel sarcasm, another scar ripped apart. _Weak, stupid, ugly. _Blood seeped through the veins and arteries, pooling in the pit of the cold stomach that I now clutched with two hands, silent in my realization. _Every child of God is given a destiny. _And I smiled to myself at the lies that had been forcefully shoved down my throat all of these years.

Lifting my gaze to meet his, I calmly responded with the words that I had buried inside myself, all those years ago. "And I **hate** that **you** ain't smart enough to know that **we** were never even 'ere to begin with!"

_**War. **_Two pairs of blue eyes – one dark with silent midnight, and the other, frosty like lonely winter – clashed together in a silent battle cry. _War, war, war, war, war. _It was all that I could do not to begin screaming and berating the monster opposite of me, so my only reply to his silent tyranny was to glare at him, beyond pissed off. _War stole something from me. _I wrapped both hands around the tiny golden ring swinging from my neck, gently running my sweaty fingers across the scratches and ridges in the warped metal. My grip upon the necklace tightened considerably. _**You**__ stole something from me!_

And I wanted it back.

"His name ain't Seth, though, is it?" Daddy mumbled, reaching his hands over and tracing patterns in the air around the necklace. The small heart glistened with sweat and magic for a moment, before dissipating completely into nothingness. "You spread those legs o' yers for another man now."

"Seth and I ain't _never_ ever touched each other like that," I hissed through clenched teeth and cracked lips, my tongue slick with blood, the result of chewing nervously upon my cheek. "He loves me more 'n you ever will, and I love him more 'n life."

He sneered at that clichéd declaration of love, blue eyes glinting with that familiar spark of absolute resentment. "What the fuck kinda fairytale ya think ya'll livin' in, girl?" Daddy demanded with his trademark smirk, the one seemingly drowning beneath derision.

A small, breathless laugh at how true those words seemed to be, and I said, "Once upon a time, Seth n' I wanted to live here, with you, and have our silly ol' Happily Ever After." I laughed yet again, and this time, the sound darkened to a cackle. "All I'm gonna say is that Seth 'n I live far, far, far away now."

"Yeah," Daddy snorted, seeming almost bitter in his observation, and he dryly muttered, "I'm guessin' that yer sweet Prince Charming –" His blue eyes crinkled lightly at the sides, an action eerily reminiscent of Aragorn himself, though the expression remained cruel. "– came to wipe away all the blood, sweet, 'n tears?"

Nostrils flared and blue eyes cold, I stared down my nose at him, in spite of the height difference acting in his favor. "So what if I trust n' care for Aragorn?" I snapped the question irritably and, though it was rhetorical, the nasty old buzzard had already opened his mouth to voice his response.

"You love _him,_ don't ya?" Daddy accused, his voice soft in spite of the dark emphasis hissed into that single word. My father crossed his thin albeit muscled forearms over one another and leaned against the edge of the barn, one sneaker clad foot tapping a mysterious rhythm into the dirt.

_You love __**him. **_I stiffened almost imperceptibly, all thoughts, emotions, and words falling to a complete and utter standstill. Memories rained steadily upon my mind, painting images of him, the man with black hair – salted lightly with strands of aged silver – and beautiful, stormy gray eyes. _Aragorn. _My heart hammered at the thought of his smile, wide and mischievous, as it graced his regal face and evaporated the battle weariness from his tanned skin. _You __**love**__ Aragorn. _

His strong arms were at my waist, pulling us closer and closer together, and I savored the feeling of his naked flesh on mine, and his hot breath warming my parted lips, and his sweet whispers of love. Our limbs were entangled together, sweaty hands clasped at the palm and shaking legs still wrapped tightly around each other. I writhed beneath his lanky form in ecstasy, moaning softly from both pain _and_ pleasure, the result of willingly breaking the virgin barrier within me. He rocked himself above me, smiling and whispering honeyed words in Elvish. And I could see, taste, and feel him **deep** inside of me. _**Oh!**_

_You, Samantha May Steel, love Aragorn, Son of Arathorn._

Gasping, I placed both hands on my shaking head, trying to quell the erotic images of lust, sex, and naked flesh. I dropped to my palms and knees, bowing my chin to the ground in an attempt to keep from screaming as each image and word engraved itself in my mind and into the heart that I had hidden away. Guarded with my miserable life. Placed beneath lock and key in the hopes of not falling prey to another man.

Musical notes whispered inside my mind, heedless of this mental breakdown, and I stared down at the ground, blue eyes wide and glassy. Images appeared yet again, hinting at the fact that this painful encounter with dear ol' Daddy was not real, while the colorful images – no, the _visions_ – of Aragorn kissing my neck and gently sweetly, tenderly thrusting into me were, in fact, dreams that could – no, _**would **_– become reality.

_It appears, my child, that Aragorn loves you as well. _Oromë whispered into my ears, voice soft with both amusement and, surprisingly, affection. And then, I was alone with only the echoes of his voice as a reminder that this was yet another nightmare that I could awaken from. When I did, I would be back home, with my **real **family: Seth, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and the Hobbits.

And Aragorn…!

Midnight blue eyes stared into my own, watching my unresponsiveness – or perhaps stunned amazement – with what appeared to be his typical sadistic amusement. His lips, stained black with tobacco juice, curled upwards in a grim smirk. He laughed darkly, the sound catching on a single word: "**Slut****.**"

Daddy ignored the stunned whimper that I released at these realizations, and the shades of black and white within the world righted themselves again. His daughter, his child of flesh and blood, had sinned and shamed his family, smearing the name with dirt and blood – thus, this became his duty to punish the filthy whore, lest he suffer the same punishment in the afterlife. He moved his fingers in practiced ease and, because it was second nature, reloaded the sawed off shotgun with a small click of buttons, gears, and shifting bullets. This, it seemed, was yet another warning, and I could feel it sluggishly resonating within my mind at varying degrees of urgency.

_You Are Going to Die._

My heart stopped briefly, remembering the harsh imprint of the words I had often recited to myself back then, back when I had believed each beating to be the last, before stuttering back to life with a **roar** of fury. I blanched at those words, hating the fact that my stomach still dropped to my sneakers at the sound of that familiar voice. Yet I still cried out in defiance, my cracked lips parting in a war cry, and I lunged at the hideous, evil monster that had jailed, beaten, and belittled Seth and I. Hands outstretched, fingers clutching the broken remains of the arrow resting, forgotten, in my pocket. I was prepared to fight him to the death.

_YOU ARE GOING TO DIE._

A sense of déjà vu whispered through my veins and blood roared loudly in my ears, creating the famed tunnel vision that I had only heard about in stories of soldiers, fighters, survivors. And Daddy, fool though he was, automatically pulled himself into the untrained equivalent of the defensive fighting stances that Seth had insisted teaching me years ago, after realizing that I would have to defend myself from somebody eventually. Like Daddy.

_**YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.**_

Time did not stop or drift into slow motion, as most would have believed, and I found myself stunned at the adrenaline rush that zipped through me with the speed of lightning. Two bullets grazed both ears and shoulders, seemingly at the exact same moment, and continued onwards to bury themselves deep within the wooden beams of the barn at my rear. Like Legolas, I lifted the weapon in my sweating hands – bow and silver arrows, suddenly appearing in arms that were _not_ broken – with trained expertise. I aimed the tip of the arrow at my opponent, smiled grimly in satisfaction, and released the taut string from between my stiff fingers.

My Daddy stared at me in silence, blue eyes cold and brimming with days, weeks, and months, and two decades of repressed grief and love for his lost wife. And I stared back at him, my own gaze shining with the happiness that I had found within a different family, not of flesh and blood, but of love. He smiled briefly at me, almost tenderly, and then sluggishly sagged to the ground in a graceless heap, his entire body dropping like an anvil. **The End.**

Pain exploded behind tightly closed eyelids, both of which I had slammed shut to ward against stray tears, and colored the darkness with a rainbow of color – pink, blue, red, and yellow, like beautiful shooting stars. My lips parted suddenly, harshly, and against their will, desperate for the chance to suck in another breath of life. And I screamed into the night, blue eyes wide and tears glittering with pink, blue, red, and yellow diamonds. _I wish…!_

"Hush, Angel." Two hands, warm and calloused, slipped into my own, wrapping our sweaty fingers together in a net of pale flesh, thrashing limbs, and chipped fingernails. "I've gotcha now, just like I always have, alright?"

At the warm sound of his masculine voice and the gentle touch of his hands, I ceased the frantic thrashing and quieted the howls of horror to soft whimpers. I did thus without rhyme or reason, a sign that this stranger was actually known to me. My confusion apparently worried the thin albeit strong male, and I grumbled lightly at the grunt of aggravation that rippled through my dirty hair, making it even messier.

He laughed quietly at the expression of pouting that I had assumed, and that sound only served to further confuse me. The words, the touch, and the rich smell of this tall boy – or rather, **man** – were so incredibly _familiar_ to me. Regardless, I remembered the sweet sound of his laughter as uproariously loud, uplifting in its exuberance. Why could I not place the face to this nameless stranger?

"No need to scream or cry, eh?" Soft lips pressed themselves against my suddenly tearstained cheek, then my sweaty forehead, and lastly, the corners of the mouth that I had closed in surprise. "Hush, hush, hush…"

My eyes opened slowly, almost hesitantly, and fluttered against the candlelight like butterflies in the wind. Blankly, I stared at the surrounding bed, nightstand, bookcase, and fireplace with open confusion, dumbfounded at the fact that I had awoken in a room within the stone walls of what I assumed to be a castle or other stronghold. Last I had checked, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli were wandering about the forest, while Legolas and I had been standing by that river and…

Blood. I remembered lots of blood, gushing from within the wound and around the fangs still embedded deep in my neck. My arm and right hand, though previously broken, automatically drifted upwards to trace the healed markings along my nape. Dear God, I had wanted to **die **upon suffering the initial pain of being bitten by that Spider! So much so, it seemed, that I deliriously blacked out from both the pain of the bite _and_ the deadly poison in those fangs.

Wearily, I settled back into the warm embrace of the familiar stranger, the one with blonde hair and strong, calloused hands. "Where are we now, Boromir?" I asked, taking a stab in the dark and addressing him as my guardian.

The masculine hands, lined with veins and thick scars, suddenly stopped in their tracks, hesitated briefly, and then cautiously resumed their path. He sighed quietly, seemingly berating himself for the silence that answered that answered this question, and began carding his hands though hair again. His hands went down from my sweaty forehead, through my matted hair, and towards my rear end, where the tangled forest of filthy blonde hair ended.

I would normally have hissed at this person, infuriated with the soul brave enough to fondly my ass. My mouth, however, remained firmly shut against the harsh sarcasm reserved for friend and foe alike. His touch was so very gentle, and instead of berating the handsy pervert, I leaned into the calloused hands, secretly relishing the prickly sensation that developed from the repeated motion of him carding his hands over my skin.

_Numb. I am so very, very, very numb. Thank God. Hallelujah. Amen._

A chuckle escaped through his open mouth, and I jolted at the realization that his deep voice was soft, low, and echoed faintly with a country twang. He gently tweaked the ends of blonde hair with his fingers and dryly responded, "My name ain't Boromir, cupcake."

I stiffened like a corpse, caught off guard by the familiarity of the husky voice when paired with the earlier glimpse of blonde hair and lanky build. Thinking back, I remembered all of the times that he and I would harmonize with one another. He, like always, appeared to have thought of the same memory – and the exact same song, too. Pink lips parted yet again, and he began to sing the opening to one of his favorite country songs.

"'She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette." Humming the lyrics to the next few lines instead of singing them aloud, and then, "He never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind, until the night…"

Shooting upwards in disbelief, I whirled around to find myself staring stupidly at this supposed stranger, blue eyes wide and mouth open in a very unattractive manner. _Gonna catch yerself all them flies with yer sweet honey voice, eh, Sammy? _And I immediately shut my open mouth at the memory of his feisty words, smiled through the thunderstorm of salty tears and soft whimpers, and moved closer to him, eyeing him with appreciation.

This male, though similar in build and color, differed in the fact that he was still fresh out of the teenage years. If I recalled correctly, he would be considered relatively tall in my world, while here he found himself below the average. He remained quite lanky, with only the faint outlines of strong muscles peeking out from beneath his clothing, and his face had lost its baby fat. Blonde hair, unruly and hanging low in a pair of mint green eyes, and that jagged scar.

I reached upwards to run my shaking fingers down the edge of the scar, gently tracing the small line and subsequent lack of hair that it created through his left eyebrow. My mouth twitched lightly in amusement, and I laughed silently to myself, thinking back to the day that I had accidentally given this particular 'battle scar' to him. Innocent game of football, my ass!

"Samantha, Sammy, Sam." Green eyes glittered with love and adoration, and he smiled widely at the stunned expression of amazement on my pale face. He gently pressed his left index finger to my nose, pressed the tip lightly inward, and softly said, "Call my name, you know who I am."

_His name was…_

"Seth!"

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Well, I really have **no excuse** for the absense of updates for this story, other than **life sucks** and I was absolutely** drawing blanks with this new chapter.** If it is any consolation, I must have written it about eight different times! XD Yay for the early onset of Carpal Tunnel! Woohoo~! Yeah...

Okay, I am seriously tired because I have had full time school, part time work, and holidays to endure. Please excuse the lack of updates, blah, blah, blah, yada, yada. On that note, **I would appreciate some good feedback** - about **215 reviews,** maybe - because I am not certain how I did with this chapter as it is kind of that **dreaded filler,** you know?

**When you review, please answer the following questions!**

**1) ** Do You Want Sammy to Spend Time With Seth, Aragorn, Or Both of Them? ;)

**2) ** Should I include the lemon with Sammy and Aragorn that I have planned?

Thankies, peeps!

'night. :)


	24. Chapter 23: Reunited

~Chapter Twenty Three~

Reunited

_Here I Stand,  
>Empty Hands,<br>Wishing My Wrists Were Bleeding,  
>To Stop The Pain From the Beatings. <em>

_The Warmth Of Your Embrace  
>Melts My Frostbitten Spirit.<br>You Speak the Truth,  
>And I Hear It.<em>

_The Words Are  
>"I Love You." <em>

_~Red Sam,_ by Flyleaf

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>"Samantha, Sammy, Sam." <strong>**Green eyes glittered with love and adoration, and he smiled widely at the stunned expression of amazement on my pale face. He gently pressed his left index finger to my nose, pressed the tip lightly inward, and softly said, "Call my name, you know who I am."**

**_His name was…_**

**"Seth!"**

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><p><em>I wish. <em>Dreams, I learned, had this particularly nasty habit of turning into horrible nightmares – images of thunder and lightning, guns, screams, and blood spattered anywhere, and everywhere, and yet nowhere at all – when given even a single breath of freedom. _Your fault! _Frozen index fingers and thumbs, made seemingly of ice, curled into the soft and sensitive skin at my neck. He was intent upon pulling and pushing and squeezing the life right out of me.

Because I was, and always would be –

_Weak, stupid, and ugly! _

My blue eyes squeezed shut without conscious thought. Horrified, I shuddered repeatedly and inhaled sharply through my nose in an attempt to breathe. But I merely whimpered in fright, too lost in the memories of cruel pain still lingering in my confused mind – _**YOU ARE GOING TO DIE**__ – _to think rationally. But did I ever? Nope. Never ever…

Green eyes suddenly blinked in amusement, possibly laughter, and Seth dryly asked, "You ain't goin' to start screamin' 'n shit, are ya?" He smiled that familiar smile, with pink lips pulled back and white teeth bright, before laughing loudly – _too loudly, too loudly, too loudly _– and then suddenly tapering off in confusion at the blank expression in my eyes "…uh, Sammy?"

My broken heart raced beneath heaving breasts, beating invisible tattoos into skin stretched too tight to accommodate the sudden breath bursting in my aching lungs. I gasped for breath, hating that I could not scream, and clutched at the silk sheets – _red, like __**blood**_– that softly pooled at my waist like water. That omnipresent ache burning within the hole in my chest, stomach, and lungs slowly lifted, whispered words of relief into my ear, and then vanished into the light of early morning shining through the window.

Gone, yet I could still hear that beautiful voice, soft and husky and calling to me…

_Samantha, Sammy, Sam. You know who I am. You know._

"Seth," I whispered, chanted, and prayed his name, reaching forward with shaking hands to touch this ethereal being sitting beside me. A breath of cold air hitched inside, just below the collar bone, and stayed there, frozen shut with the weight of the tears in my eyes. "Oh, Seth…"

Oh Valar, I'd wanted to see and touch and hug him for days, weeks, months, years. The time apart just slipped by, falling down into memories as my mind snapped from the past – always the past – and to the present. My heart screamed and inked the tattoo with crimson red blood. How long had it been since I touched him, hugged him, kissed him goodbye?

Eyes wide, I hesitantly reached outwards to touch him, to feel his skin beneath mine, to feel his heartbeat pounding into my ears. Fingers uncurled, palms opened, both arms stretching out to curl around his waist. I desperately longed to pull him closer, longed to hold him, longed to crawl beneath his skin. I wanted to hide, forever, in the familiar warmth of his hold. My brother, Seth, would always protect me.

_Born together, die together._

However, I couldn't help but wonder whether this young man, my precious one, was real. I could hear his voice, could smell the fire of the pipe falling from his mouth, could count all of the colors of the forest in his eyes. But I could not feel his skin, could not recall the warmth, could not, could not, could not! Could Seth be real and made of sweat, flesh, and blood?

My Twin, my precious big brother, died twelve months ago, just before his twentieth birthday – and mine. Beneath the golden sunshine and silence of the early morning, I buried him six feet under. Buried him beneath that bed of daisies, roses, and tulips. Bittersweet. Like Seth and I. Seth and Sammy, Sammy and Seth, Seth and Sammy, Sammy and Seth. Then Sammy. Only Sammy. No Seth…

Cold fingers twitched in his direction, searching blindly, endlessly, for his touch. My lips twitched and moved to form the words, but I could only hear them in my mind. _I wish…_

"I'm real, Angel," Seth whispered to me and, with calloused hands, tenderly reached forward to clasp his fingers around the hands still outstretched, towards him – always him. He gently but firmly pressed his shoulders into mine, hugging me.

Tears continued to rain down from my eyes, running into my swollen nostrils and down into my mouth. But I absently brushed them away, my sweaty fingers halfheartedly moving across my nose, cheeks, mouth, and chin, cleaning the tears and yellow snot from my nose. That image, back in waters of Fangorn Forest, seemed to vanish before me. Strong Sammy was not cold, proud, fearless in front of her brother, because I did not need to be strong in front of him.

'Cuz Seth was strong enough for the both of us, right?

He would help me, protect me, save me…

_**Seth **__loved __**me.**_

My stupid, traitorous mind darted, almost needlessly, to the last time that I cried this hard. And I could remember how much it hurt to realize that the love I could feel for them – that happy and lonely and beautiful and terrible love – was not returned. Old thoughts of Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli zipped to life. Yes, I could remember them. All of them. Disappointed frowns, cold words of disgust, feelings of – **HATRED, HATRED, HATRED.**

_I __**hate **__you!_

The Ice Queen, Samantha May Steel, resurrected herself from the grave! My tears seemed to be frozen, made of snowflakes, frost, and ice. White skin paled continually and darkened only with the freckles of blue frost that dropped to my arms. Eyelashes fluttered uselessly against ice cold, numb skin, and I tried desperately not to scream out from the constant pain clawing and tearing and ripping at the delicate skin inside me.

Instead, I ducked down to stare at my arms, chest, and legs – clean, mended, and unbroken – and laughed in the face of the silence breathing into me. I could not _believe_ this shit! Finally, I was reunited with Seth – the familiar friend, the big brother, _the most precious person in_ _my entire world_ – and I only wanted to see my companions again. Boromir, Gimli, Legolas, and…

_I love you, Aragorn, but… _I muttered the words in my mind, feeling heavy and broken beneath the sudden weight of depression that followed this realization. _…you hate me, right?_

But Seth, who did not share their feelings, could only laugh at the disbelief etched into my permanently scarred forehead. _**War.**_He smiled, blindly chasing and defeating the nightmares that continued to plague me, as always. _**Death.**_When I could breathe properly through both nostrils again, I bowed forward to rest against his muscled chest, listening to the strong and steady beating of his heart. _**Life.**_

_Seth. _And I smiled, the feeling of sadness mysteriously lifting and vanishing into thin air, like ghosts being exorcised from room. His healthy heartbeat roared beneath the warm ears pressed to his chest. Humming, deep and husky, vibrated from deep inside of his chest, matching the heartbeat that I treasured. _Seth is alive. _

Seventeen notes of music whispered to life and glittered beside his shoulders, casting his face in the glow of morning sunshine and otherworldly magic. "'I run from hate, I run from prejudice, I run from pessimists, but I run too late,'" Seth murmured into my ear and reached forward to kiss my nose, soft and sweet.

Everything rushed back to me in that instant, all of the memories and the nightmares and the broken dreams, which dropped to the ground and shattered, like colored glass. Above all else, though, I remembered the love of music that I shared with Seth. Countless harmonies, choruses, and melodies could be heard in these memories of mine. Songs, written by Trapt, Skillet, Avril Lavigne, Shania Twain, Thousand Foot Krutch, Poets of the Fall, Lovers and Liars, Three Days Grace, Evanescence, Rascal Flatts, Red, Within Temptation, Nickelback, and Icon for Hire echoed inside us.

Our personal favorite, however, was –

_Lady Antebellum._

"'I run my life,'" I whispered, the words falling from between parted lips like rain. My lips quirked upwards, into a grin, and I carelessly shrugged the declaration back before softly singing, "'Or is it running me?'"

Yes, Seth and I were well versed in sarcasm, as victims and victors in the constant battle of words and wits and whips with Daddy. His eyes glittered with amusement when the subtle flash of good humor in my words reached his ears. Nobody could fight the destinies bestowed to them by the Valar. We realized that, but Seth and I would still try to bend the rules and break free. He pushed his hands into mine, curling the fingers together, and smiled. We weren't alone anymore.

"'Run from my past,'" I brightly continued, grinning widely at the young man who could read between the lines and understand everything that I said, screamed, cried, and laughed. My Twin, Seth. "'I run too fast!'"

"'I run too fast,'" Seth and I harmonized and leaned towards each other, putting blonde heads together as we continued, "or too slow, it seems." His long limbs tangled with mine when Seth tackled into me, crushing his bigger body to mine – just like all of those weekends back at the ranch. "When lies become the truth; that's when I run to you."

A breath of fresh air zipped into two pairs of lungs, but Seth and I ignored the strain and loudly cried, "'This world keep spinning faster, into a new disaster, so I run to you.'" We locked hands and legs together. He and I paused to smile at each other and, in doing so, years of unspoken emotions poured into the song. "'I run to you…'"

Oblivious to the hushed voices of passing maids, Seth and I continued to harmonize, remaining in sync and falling into the lull of the rich cadences of the country tune. Music filled the air – the strumming of the guitars, and the tinkling of the pianos, and the pounding of the drums. Our two heartbeats began to pulse in time to each other, like two drums from a single kit, and roared inside the beat of the song.

"'We run on fumes,'" Seth and I synced, weaving in and out of each other, apart and together and apart again, with ease. We separated for a second, leaned backwards, and called, "'Your life and mine, like the sands of time, slippin' right on through, and our love's the only truth –'" He smiled when I leaned forward to kiss his chin. "'– that's why I run to you."

"'This world keeps spinning faster, into a new disaster so I run to you,'" Seth gently crooned, his blonde head leaning against mine and jade green eyes closed. He rubbed his cheek in the hair at my nape and whispered, "'I run to you, baby.'"

"And when it all starts coming undone, baby, you're the only one I run to," I murmured the admission, because I could feel how true it was in relation to us, and I wanted him to know that I still loved him.

Loving Aragorn, Boromir, and the others would not change that fact. My heart – the heart that I discovered to be kind during this journey – was suddenly large enough to hold love for each of these precious people. I could love family and friends. Maybe, just maybe, I could make another family, too. With Aragorn…

Seth rolled to his side and stared into my eyes, green and blue clashing like the water and the skies, and reached his fingertip out to trace the laugh lines in my eyes and cheeks. He smiled at the sight, knowing that none were present before. "Whoa, oh…"

Humming to the tune of the instruments, I cuddled into his embrace, satisfied that Seth carried these laugh lines, too. Eyes closed and lips parted, I softly added, "Oh, I run to you…!" And I waited, with baited breath, for the finishing lines of the stanza, which I could feel rushing through my veins. Fire and brimstone.

He and I gazed straight at each other, noting all of the changes that appeared within the other during the four years we were separated, and beautifully finished, "I run to you…" The music faded into the background of the stories shining in our eyes.

A cheeky smile parted through the darkness and brightened the solemn expression plastered to his otherwise gentle face. The sudden change softened the battle hardened skin around his green eyes, erasing the furrowed lines from his forehead, and making him appear many years younger. He was, it seemed, almost identical to the Seth that I had known four years ago. So, I smiled back at the handsome soldier and gracefully surrendered to the chaotic whirlwind of strange emotions inside, letting the tears return to wash the years away. We were seventeen again.

"My God," I whispered into his shirt, the breathless words sounding like a prayer. My fingers clutched at the jade tunic, pulling the material to my nose, and I shamelessly sniffed at the familiar scents that seemed engraved in his skin. Like tattoos.

As expected, Seth nodded in appreciation and, in a sickeningly sweet voice, announced, "You don't have to refer to me as yer God." He paused briefly, obviously considering if his next words should be verbalized – _probably not _– and grinned wolfishly at me.

My eyes narrowed dangerously, the familiar emotion of frustration boiling in the sky blue depths. That familiar country twang returned to my voice in an instant, in spite of the months that I worked to hide it while with the Fellowship, and I needlessly warned, "Don't think 'bout it, Seth." The softly spoken words darkened with the promise of pain should the idiot not listen to me.

Green eyes glittered with mischief. Chapped lips pulled backwards into an almost feral smile, which likely signified the total stupidity that would fall from between his slightly crooked teeth in mere seconds, and Seth smirked at me, amused. He crouched lower, his muscled forearms holding me in the warmth of his embrace, where I could be protected – and to prevent my escape, as well.

Inwardly, I sighed at the stark familiarity of the situation, thoroughly annoyed that Seth would remain so unchanged and immature in the face of this reunion. He and I were separated for four years. But Seth did not seem to have matured in the least! _What the fuck is __**wrong**__ with this idiot?_

"Seth, Supreme Lord of Sexy Sweetness is better," Seth proudly proclaimed, before shrugging his wide – _wider than before _– shoulders and moving his golden eyebrows in an up and down fashion. "But refer to me as yer master and all will be just fine, Angel." He winked at me.

_Scratch that! _And then, I frowned in confusion when another thought pushed at the brain cells in my mind. _What the fuck is wrong with __**me**__? _My pink pursed lips tightened into a scowl because a nasty and bittersweet taste slipped through the cracks. _Normally, I would be happy to horse around with Seth, but now…_

Now, I wanted to run away.

_I wish…_

"Jesus Christ, Sammy," Seth complained openly in irritation. His lips twisted into a scowl that, I noticed, matched mine. We were a pair, two peas in a pod, and two different sides to the same mirror. "What the fuck crawled between yer cheeks and fuckin' died, eh?"

Stunned at this accusation, I dropped back to what I used to do all of those years ago, in another house, another time, and another world. Old habits die hard, yeah? So I did what anyone in my position would probably do – or rather, what I _used_ _to do_ when Seth and I teased each other like this all the time. I pulled back to stare into his boyishly charming face, smiled brightly at him, and punched him. In the gut. **Hard.**

"Motherfuckin' bitch!" Seth cried out in pain and jerked sideways, before slowly turning to stare down at me with narrowed jade eyes, a rough hand pressed to his stomach to stifle the tremors from the (deserved) right hook. "Beatin' the shit outta me again then, Sammy?"

My left eyebrow quirked upwards, highlighting the honest amusement glinting in my eyes, and I chuckled darkly, feeling sadistic. "You know it, Seth," I said and smirked at the roll of his green eyes – and his irritation, which I believed to be amusing in its own right.

We were quiet, then, each lost in the emotions rippling in our stomachs like hunger. My Twin and I were always hungry, always starved for attention, but neither Seth nor I would admit to that secret longing for the love and affection of another. He and I loved each other like brother and sister, contrary to popular belief, but nobody really believed that to be true. Seth could find release, but not love, in his little tarts. And I could, well…

Who'd really want to fuck me?

"…." Seth remained silent, glaring at nothing in particular, and refused to turn my way, even when I moved to lean into his touch. He merely pushed himself forward to cover me with his larger, more muscular form.

Nodding solemnly, I patted his chest and calmly stated, "…right on." I then shrugged this familiar reaction – _bipolar to the extreme, this one_ – off without care. Deciding to ignore his sulking and surveying the surroundings with obvious interest. Curious about where I could be.

Blue eyes stared curiously at the small but warm and welcoming bedroom, where Seth and I currently resided. I permitted myself to reach out and touch the first of two wooden nightstands sitting beside the small bed in which I rested. Three bookshelves, filled with dozens of thick tomes, were mounted to the walls above the two dressers across our – or rather, the **guest** – bedroom. My hands twitched, positively itching to sift through the interesting collection of books, but I refrained and turned to the left to out the window, instead.

"Well, Toto, you and I ain't in Kansas anymore," I muttered, lost in thought, and listening to the hustling and bustling of people in the invisible streets below. Then, I turned to him and voiced the question that scratched at my voice box, begging to be released – "Where are we, anyway?"

He settled back to rest against the headboard beside me, a small smile dancing up and down his lips. "'In a galaxy, far, far away…'" Seth intoned, obviously done with his little episode. His deep voice was suddenly dull with feigned disinterest, but his green eyes were colored bright with amusement. Idiot…

Forever the hypocrite, I groaned loudly at this reference to the world Seth and I left behind in death. "Fanatic," I grumbled into the pillow that I decided to shove into my ears in the hopes of drowning out his hysterical laughter, which sounded like hyenas on crack and heroin. "You are a motherfucking fangirl, Seth!"

"'You know it,'" Seth cheerfully mimicked the earlier words, sticking his tongue out at me in that silly fashion that most children, including us, were inclined to demonstrate during ridiculous conversations – like this one.

"Seth," I sighed and reached forward to lightly swat at his chest, which only served in hurting my now red fingertips. Sucking the pained fingers into my mouth, I glared daggers at the cheerful idiot that found this funny and rudely reiterated, "Where the fuck –?"

"Edoras," Seth said, interrupting the beginnings of the verbal abuse without worry. He opened his mouth again, paused at the surprised and annoyed expression in my eyes, and then grinned lightly in good humor. His smile softened, like melted butter, and his fingers wrapped around mine. "We're finally home, Sammy."

Sound exploded, like fireworks, in my ears. I whipped backwards to stare, incredulous, at the big brother that I believed to be dead and long gone. _Death stole something from me. _Beautiful music filled the bedroom, the thick notes of the country singing and rushing in my veins, before floating serenely between us. Blue, gray, green, orange, purple, indigo, yellow, red, black, and white – the rainbow of musical notes bumped into the muscles of his arms and caressed the soft skin of the face that I turned to him. _Born together, die together. _And I realized then that Seth would always be with me.

Nothing could separate us.

Not Daddy.

Not Death.

No one.

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**Holy Cheetos!** It has been freakin' forever, right? I apologize to everyone and humbly beg for forgiveness! Also, I want to bow down and thank everyone in the audience for the overwhelming amount of reviews, favorites, and alerts that I have received in the last couple of months! I just realized that I asked for 215 reviews in the last chapter. And I'm at 260 or so! WOW! O_o

So, Seth and Sammy are partners in crime again! I did like several people asked and made the wonderfully sarcastic ranchers sing together. The Twins have been reunited and, in the next chapter, several questions about the when, where, why, how, and such and such will be answered. How does Sammy find herself in Edoras? Where was that blasted Elf? What the flapjack is up with Aragorn?

But I will only do this if I get about **280 reviews**, so...

**READ AND REVIEW!**

...please? :D


	25. Chapter 24: Past, Present, and Future

~Chapter Twenty Four~

Past, Present, and Future

_We Hold Onto Each Other.  
>All We Have Is All We Need.<br>Because One Way Or Another,  
>We Always Think It's You and Me.<em>

_This Life Could Almost Kill Ya,  
>When You're Trying To Survive.<br>It's Good To Be Here With Ya,  
>And It's Good To Be Alive.<em>

_I Was Lost And I Was Gone.  
>I Was Almost Dead Inside.<em>

_You're A Second Chance For Me._

_~Good to Be Alive,_ by Skillet

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"Seth," I sighed and reached forward to lightly swat at his chest, which only served in hurting my now red fingertips. Sucking the pained fingers into my mouth, I glared daggers at the cheerful idiot that found this funny and rudely reiterated, "Where the fuck –?"<strong>

**"Edoras," Seth said, interrupting the beginnings of the verbal abuse without worry. He opened his mouth again, paused at the surprised and annoyed expression in my eyes, and then grinned lightly in good humor. His smile softened, like melted butter, and his fingers wrapped around mine. "We're finally home, Sammy."**

**Sound exploded, like fireworks, in my ears. I whipped backwards to stare, incredulous, at the big brother that I believed to be dead and long gone. _Death stole something from me. _Beautiful music filled the bedroom, the thick notes of the country singing and rushing in my veins, before floating serenely between us. Blue, gray, green, orange, purple, indigo, yellow, red, black, and white – the rainbow of musical notes bumped into the muscles of his arms and caressed the soft skin of the face that I turned to him. _Born together, die together. _And I realized then that Seth would always be with me.**

**Nothing could separate us.**

**Not Daddy.**

**Not Death.**

**No one.**

* * *

><p>Silently, I stared through the window, remembering the touch of flowers and tall strands of long grass on my ankles while I darted through the lands of the Riddermark. I was suddenly living in Edoras, however, and the difference in nature was astounding! The vast slopes of the hills and the mountains were gone. Waves of dark and yellow green grass greeted the gentle curiosity swimming in my eyes, instead. And I sighed with longing. It <strong>called<strong> to me, and because this would be the first time that I'd been inside in about two months, I shuffled forward in the window seat to press myself closer to the outside, where the beloved wild remained.

_You were meant to live in another world._

My lips trembled faintly, pulling downwards into a scowl, and I leaned forward, further still until I could breathe in the heady scent of the grass, and the trees, and the sunshine. There were nights that I missed sleeping in normal beds, like most girls would, but I did not mind sleeping outdoors and beneath the moon and stars. The blankets, old and threadbare from constant use, were warm and familiar, like Aragorn. The Ranger was always two feet away, so close and yet too far away, and his hand reached for mine whenever I sadly – no, desperately – called out for Seth in my sleep. His gentle lips brushed against my ear and whispered, _"I'm here for you."_

Oddly enough, I missed Aragorn in spite of what transpired outside of Fangorn Forest. I missed him like I missed Seth, too, which meant that I missed him almost **constantly**. I also missed the sweet taste of wild apples, bruised skin bursting with flavor, and the cold shade of passing trees, and the warmth of the golden light brushing against my eyes. I could faintly hear Aragorn and Boromir calling out to me. _Little one!_

All of it, the sunshine and the warmth and the endearments and the companionship, remained just beyond the reach of outstretched fingertips, calling to me. I could hear it, but the music was much too soft beneath the rush of blood that pounded in my ears. Emotions screamed within me, too, and clouded the judgment that I wished to be crystal clear. Longing and confusion warred within me. Seth was mine again. He was alive, safe, and here – with _me._

Why, then, did I feel like I had left behind another part of myself?

_Little one…_

I stretched both arms out to touch the foliage. It shrouded the window in shade and brushed gentle fingertips against leaves, yellow and red flowers, and strong branches. There were several trees and bushes beneath the window, from which ivy and vines climbed upwards, towards the window through which I peered. My face, framed by the window and the ivy, turned upwards, towards the skies. The smell of sunshine and wildflowers reached quivering nostrils, and I breathed in sharply, savoring the familiar scents of milkweed, horses, fireplaces, and by extension –

_**Bacon! **_I mentally screamed and danced around like a crazy person, waving arms and hands and legs with joy. My happy dance ended, however, when I realized that while I could certainly _smell_ the bacon, I could not _see_ it. _Dammit…_

My belly growled at the smell of salt and meat, burning with hunger at the possibility of being able to devour something other than that damn Lembas. Not that I wasn't grateful for the thick and filling bread! But I couldn't stand the plain taste of bread passing into the growling depths of the cold, empty belly within me. My recent weight loss might also be attributed to the damn bread and frequent miles of walking each day, though, which I really hated to admit to anyone – and especially not Legolas. He was egotistical enough without additional help from _me._

Besides, I preferred to think it the _amazing_ willpower I'd developed in the last several months of rigorous weapon and magical training! Walking helped, too. Note my sarcasm. _Ha, ha, ha!_

Smiling, Seth jumped upwards from the bed, patted the growling beast hidden beneath his tunic, and dramatically exclaimed, "Well, I could eat Aglæca right now!" He grinned at the resounding growl from my own stomach and reached down beside the bed to pull two trays, each filled with meats, fruits, bread, and water, upwards to us. "Hungry, Angel?"

"No, I'm not hungry in the least, Seth," I sarcastically retorted and stared at him with narrowed blue eyes. Then, I responded in kind by grinning rather enthusiastically at the pouting soldier, who grinned back and offered the tray with the most meat to me. My stomach lurched at the familiar special treatment, and I hastily said, "Yeah, 'cuz I'm actually **starving!**" I tried to laugh. "Duh…!"

Seth blanched and gritted his teeth together, his facial expression becoming tight and frightened and pissed off. I grimaced beneath the intensity of his expression and the weight that suddenly filled the room, crushing both Seth and I. The gentle rumble of quiet hunger transformed into the phantom pains of desperation and fear that seemed to follow us around all throughout our years as children and teenagers.

_Starvation… _

Yes, I remembered well the almost constant hunger that clawed inside of the growling confines of the endless black hole that I referred to as a stomach. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and I did regularly eat in the morning, but that single meal could not compare to the desired three meals of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And I could not fill the void within with only the buttered toast, cereal, and fruit offered for breakfast each morning.

When I angered Daddy, be it intentionally or not, I would receive much less food than normal for lunch and dinner. If I was quiet, I could sneak off in the middle of the night to pilfer perishable foods, including cookies, from the kitchen panties – and without getting caught. Other times, I would be discovered hiding between the wall and the sacks of potatoes at the bottom of the pantry. Daddy did not particularly like it when I did this and tried to fix the problem by _'knocking some sense into me.'_

More often than not, therefore, I did not eat again until breakfast the next morning…

It would have been enough if I did not work hard, but I did, and the exertion burned through the heavy calories of breakfast in little time – three hours, at the most. Because Seth and I worked hard to keep the ranch running by feeding, taming, and brushing the horses, I became sick and vomited, whereas Seth regularly passed out from the overall lack of nourishment. He curled further into himself each day, seeking salvation, and prayed for us. I cried until Daddy just snapped and hit me. Then I became silent.

"_What the fuck kinda fairytale ya'll livin' in, girl?"_

Guilt welled inside me, since I realized that Seth only wanted to make certain that I remained well cared for, like always. Daddy might not feel the need to provide for his two children, but Seth always made certain that I would be given enough food to keep me strong, fit, and healthy enough to survive life at the ranch. This often resulted in the older male not being able to eat as much, but Seth didn't hold it against me or complain. He always sacrificed his needs to provide for my own – and with that adorable smile of his, too.

Seth always smiled…

_Oh, Twin. _My heart swelled with the realization that this beautiful part of Seth, the desperate need to care and to love, had not changed during our years apart, either. _God, I missed being your sister so much that it hurt sometimes, but now… _

So many questions burned in my mind! How could I tell him that I managed to find the strength to fend for myself? Or that Boromir and Aragorn could help me, as well? Should I fall back into who I used to be, with him, or remain as who I had become?

_What should I do?_

Rather than refusing his kindness, however, I immediately cut into the cooked meat, savoring the flavor of the salt and the exotic spices that exploded against my pink tongue. I suddenly realized the extent of hunger burning in my stomach and consumed the rest of the meat within minutes. I then proceeded to devour the plate of fresh fruit placed beside the first one. Red apples, a small handful of raisins, and two bananas quickly disappeared, too, followed by the buttered bread to the left of the tankard of fresh well water. The water was soon gone, as well.

We munched in silence, and I admit to being only vaguely conscious of the fact that Seth watched this ravenous act of food consumption with worried frown lines and wide eyes. I know that I must have reminded him – and rather painfully, at that – of the time before Seth and I left home. That time before Seth joined the military and could eat whatever and whenever at the Mess Hall, and before I started college, where I regularly shoveled down food to combat the desperate fear of being forced to starve again. Yes, I gained about sixty pounds that year, shooting upwards from 100 to 160 pounds, but I remained full and healthy and happy.

He cleared his throat, but I continued to focus upon eating the raisins that Seth pushed to the right side of his breakfast tray with disgust. Seth might have developed the luxury of picking and choosing his meals while in the military in our world and theirs, but I could not afford to be picky when forced to eat bread and bread and **only bread!** I needed _something_ other than _bread!_ My lips tingled lightly from the surplus of flavors, and I licked the remaining juices from my parted lips, satisfied. I leaned backwards, letting the food settle into its place and digest by curling comfortably into the pillows at my side, which smelled of Seth.

Briefly, I wondered if this bedroom belonged to him…

_You know who I am._

Speaking of the Devil, Seth stared down at me, and then the empty plate, and back to me again in horror. He then darkly demanded, "Did the Fellowshits –" To which I snorted in amusement and mild jealousy, because I did not think of it first. "– not feel the need to give ya a good meal o' meat every once and awhile?" His forest green eyes were narrowed in protective anger.

"No, I haven't eaten meat in a pretty long time, Seth," I calmly responded, leaning forward to place both hands to his shoulders when the taller male moved to bolt upwards and dive for the door. He was probably intent upon murdering the nearest member of the Fellowship…

_Where __**is**__ everyone now, anyway? _I worriedly wondered, turning to stare straight out the window with furrowed eyebrows and dark eyes, as if I might be able to find them by simply checking the passerby for the familiar beard of Gimli, the familiar blue irises of Legolas, the familiar laugh of Boromir, and the familiar smile of Aragorn. My heart dropped when I realized that it could be possible for the Fellowship to still be in – and here, I shuddered and wiped moisture from my palms at the memories of dark trees whispering a song of the dead – _Fangorn Forest._

"Seth…" I removed both hands from his shaking shoulders and climbed into his lap to keep him with me, palms pressed to his chest and head buried in his neck, breathing in his scent. My lips curled upwards into a smile, and I explained, "It's easiest for the Fellowship to carry only the necessities while traveling, Twin."

"Food _is_ a necessity, Sammy!" Seth exclaimed, throwing his masculine hands to the ceiling in a quick display of exasperation. He rolled his green eyes, irritated with both the Fellowship **and** his Twin, and muttered, "Fuckin' idiots brought my sister with 'em on a suicide mission – and then didn't fuckin' 'member to feed 'er!"

Amused, I titled both cheeks and chin to the side, before witnessing yet another of his (over) protective episodes with dancing sky blue eyes. _What the fuck, Seth? _My lips twitched into a small smile, which I decided to hide from his view, lest I be scolded by Big Brother Seth for being too careless, too thoughtless, or too mindless of what I needed to survive. _Mister Pot should meet the Kettle, eh?_

"Shit!" His country accented words, rich with the honey of the ranch, slowly gave way to loud snarls, and Seth furiously growled, "Fucking Fellowshits!" He continued to mutter rude insults beneath his breath, including comments about stupidity and inbreeding. "What the fuck is up with all o' the motherfucking bread, Pillsbury Dough Boy…?"

Oh, right! Lembas Bread. My nose curled at the memories of not getting food but once every twenty hours while running with the rest of the Fellowship and towards the next designated stop in our journey. I remembered, without problem, the lack of food and the chance to eat only one meal each day. Nibbling at the Lembas Bread did bother me on occasion, but I attributed this dislike to the fact that I likened it to my painful childhood. However, I also realized that the situation could have been much worse, too. And I accepted that without a worry or care.

Why could I ignore my concerns and fears? Because in my mind, I could feel Aragorn hug me closer, the smell of pipe smoke burning in my nostrils and comforting me. His large hands were on mine, exerting gentle pressure, and I could hear him whisper his promise –_"We __**will **__protect you." _

Daddy could not hurt me anymore.

_I am my own person._

Sensing his growing horror and ire at the familiarity of the situation that I'd accepted, however, I wrapped his shaking hands in mine and carefully explained, "A small load of food, like Lembas Bread, remained light in our packs and heavy in our stomachs." Which I quoted directly from Prince Legless – uh, Legolas!

"No fuckin' wonder you're all skin and bones, Twin," Seth muttered in disgust, his large hands wrapping around the meat – or rather, the lack thereof – at my wrist. He dropped the limb to rest in his lap and buried his face in my neck. "You've been eatin' nothin' but bread for the last two months!"

_Don't remind me!_

Shrugging, I grinned at his rather critical assessment, which did not hurt my sensitive feelings like it might have long ago, and cheerfully said, "On the bright side, Seth, I finally managed to rid myself of that extra twenty or so pounds that I wanted to lose back home!"

My smile brightened at the fresh memories of that strong and confident girl in the forest water, standing tall and proud throughout the perusal of this nameless and frightened stranger. That girl remained beautiful not because of her natural charm, but because of her confidence. I could feel, could remember, the feeling of pride that reared its head at being able to stare into her – my – eyes without shame burning in my stomach. That girl remained confident in her ability to overcome, overpower, and overwhelm her trials and tribulations. _I __**am**__ my own person._

"You were jus' fine 'n dandy before all o' this shit hit the fan, Sammy," Seth muttered with irritation, lips firm and lined under his nose. His cheeks looked swollen beneath the force of his clenched teeth and his chin jutted outwards, a sign of his stubborn attitude. "Nowhere _near _perfect, Angel, but good enough for _me_…"

I could feel the soft blush that painted both cheeks pink at the compliment; however, I glanced upwards to stare into his eyes, unashamed that I appreciated his sweet words. "Thanks, Seth," I said, kissing his cheek in appreciation, and gently explained, "but I feel much healthier and all around happier without that extra weight."

My big brother scowled briefly when I mentioned this desire to lose weight before drinking in my sincere happiness, which glowed in my eyes, and smile, and skin. He paused to stare at this profound change from the days in that shared childhood between us. Seventeen years of painful suffering, of heartache, and of countless troubles and difficulties flashed in his forest green eyes. Seth opened his mouth to speak, to draw attention to the countless wounds burned into his soft flesh and mine, but closed it again without another word. My Twin could not find it within his heart to mention the desperate fear of the past. He did not want to ruin my sudden happiness.

_Daddy cannot hurt me anymore._

Honestly, I didn't want to hurt him and ruin his happiness, either. By leaving his side to traverse through the wild for the umpteenth time, however, I would be doing just that to Seth. I wanted to help Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and the Hobbits with the quest, but I could not willingly pick which side to follow now. We each wanted to fight for the side of the Light. There were smaller factions within the side of the Light, however, like the Elves, the Riders, and the Fellowship. Hell, Seth joined the Riders, and I belonged with the Fellowship!

_The War of the Ring is __**really**__ fucking complicated… _

Thankfully, Aragorn and the others would eventually be here in Edoras, as well. No longer would I be forced to choose between whom I loved and wanted to fight with – My Twin and My Family. If given the chance, I would readily stake claims for both. I would have Seth, Aragorn, and Boromir. Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin were not overly fond of who I used to be, but I'd changed for the better. Perhaps I could be friends with them, too?

I smiled into the warmth of late afternoon, tired – but satisfied that I made the right choices this time around. It remained strange, almost unbelievable, that I could claim this dysfunctional but wonderful family as my own. How amazing that I was able to love all of these people when I used to have only Seth! No father or mother or cousins to watch out for me. Just Seth, who I believed to be the most important at the moment. Just Seth, who was all alone without the Riders and in need of friends. Just Seth and Sammy.

_One love shall be born of memories_.

Yes, I needed to stay close to Seth for now. He was my precious big brother. One day, I would need to part ways with him again, but that day would not be for several weeks to come. Thus, I decided to take advantage of this reunion and spend each passing minute with him. Seth and I would reclaim the memories, bit by bit, and thus the time taken from us, as well.

Now, however, Seth and I had all of the time in the world to resurrect the bond between us. So I curled closer into his side, content for the moment to rest in the safety of his arms, and waited for sleep to come. Blue eyes closed, lips parted, and muscles relaxed before slumber came. Dreams of Aragorn stirred within my mind, like whispers in the night, and I smiled at the familiar husky laugh that echoed inside me. _Aragorn, I promise that I will be there for you, too…_

"Sleep well, Angel," Seth whispered, his hands curled into the soft locks of blonde hair that connected him to me, a string of gold from his head to mine. He smiled into the hair that tickled his chin, leaning down to kiss my nose and closed eyelids. "I love ya."

"Love ya, too, Seth…"

_I promise._

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**So,** I wanted to explain the inner turmoil Sammy is suffering now. She knows of her **duties** to the Fellowship but wants to spend time with Seth. Sammy, who is **socially inept,** is starting to realize that her heart is being pulled into different directions because of her love for so many people. She used to love only Seth. It is a really **big change** for her to recognize, understand, and then finally **accept.**

Some important **questions** will be answered next chapter, like how Seth managed to find Sammy and why the two are in Edoras - without the Fellowship. The **action** will also start to pick up again! The next chapter will end with a nice **bang.** Look forward to it, yeah? ;)

**Thanks so much for the continued support!** I love, love, love the reviews and **appreciate you all taking the time to leave feedback** and favorite my story. It means so much to me. :) THANK YOU!

Next chapter at around **305 reviews** or so, okay?

**~Please and thank you!~**


	26. Chapter 25: Hope, Faith, and Love

~Chapter Twenty Five~

Hope, Faith, and Love

_I Look Around Me,  
>And I Want You To Be There,<br>'Cause I Miss The Things We Shared._

_We Used To Have This Figured Out;  
>We Used To Breathe Without A Doubt.<em>

_I Used To Reach For You  
>When I Got Lost Along The Way.<br>I Used To Listen; You Always Had The Just Right Thing To Say. _

_I Used To Follow You._

_~Used To,_ by Daughtry

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Now, however, Seth and I had all of the time in the world to resurrect the bond between us. So I curled closer into his side, content for the moment to rest in the safety of his arms, and waited for sleep to come. Blue eyes closed, lips parted, and muscles relaxed before slumber came. Dreams of Aragorn stirred within my mind, like whispers in the night, and I smiled at the familiar husky laugh that echoed inside me. <em>Aragorn, I promise that I will be there for you, too…<em>**

**"Sleep well, Angel," Seth whispered, his hands curled into the soft locks of blonde hair that connected him to me, a string of gold from his head to mine. He smiled into the hair that tickled his chin, leaning down to kiss my nose and closed eyelids. "I love ya."**

**"Love ya, too, Seth…"**

**_I promise._**

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><p>Wings of solid black darkened the village with shadows and silence echoed in the night, broken apart only by the tormented screeches of the Nazgul and the Orcs. My chilled skin pebbled with goosebumps, my golden strands of hair jumped to attention, and I shivered beneath the breath of fear, clutching the blankets closer to me. Eyes rolled backwards. Lips parted in horror. Yet I remained <strong>silent<strong> and **trapped** within the claws of dark slumber, and the unwilling victim of countless nightmares, until early morning.

Then, I could breathe again, in peace, and without fearing for my mind, naivety, and soul. I drifted peacefully into the morning with hopeful dreams for – and of – the future painted beneath closed blue eyes. Black hair, long and peppered with silver, and storm gray eyes chased the cold nightmares away. His quiet laughter whispered in the breeze of the oncoming dawn. He smiled at me. And suddenly, I was warm and comforted by the feeling of his hot lips, hands, and hips pressed into mine. Excitement screamed in my veins, and I glowed, lost and found at the same moment.

Filled with happiness, I climbed to my slipper clad feet, darted through the bustling hallways, and upwards, to the tallest tower in our castle in the sky. White stones encased the courtyard, but I could still hear the playful laughter that glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. My lips parted and curled upwards at the sight of Aragorn, so carefree and happy. He grinned mischievously and zigzagged through the gardens, laughing when a small girl child with blonde hair, silver eyes, and sunkissed freckles lifted her cream colored skirts to chase him.

My girl – his girl – his **and** mine…

_Have Faith, Heir of Manwë._

"_Have Faith." _For the first time in what seemed like forever, I awakened to sweet peace, to utter serenity, and to the warm cocoon of feathered pillows and cotton blankets. My small hands curled around the pillow that I wished to be Aragorn. _"You will sacrifice yourself for Hope, but have Faith." _Sweet sunshine called out to me, a golden beacon in the faint darkness of dreams that I could only vaguely remember. _"Live, Laugh, and Love."_

I sleepily rolled onto to my stomach and stretched both feet out from beneath the blanket to cool the sweat from my crossed ankles and behind both knees. Green and white blankets were slowly kicked off, and I sighed into the pillow, blowing away several stands of hair from my mouth. I sighed softly; based off the position of the sun, I guessed it was about time to get out of bed.

My blue eyes remained closed, however, and I drifted back and forth between silent wakefulness and blissful slumber. Early morning passed swiftly beneath the colorful blur of dreams, familiar faces, and nameless voices. But I remembered at least one. He smiled, brushed the hair from my eyes, and gently said, _**"**__Have Faith."_

When I awakened again, I immediately removed myself from the bed that I'd called mine for the last week – _much_ too long, in my opinion – and glanced around the room. I frowned, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and blindly searched for his face, his horn, his forest haven. Confused, I slowly mumbled, "…Oromë?"

The Lord of the Hunt did not respond, but I could feel fingers running through the strands of hair at my nape. I slowly reached around to touch the fingers; however, I could feel nothing but air and switched paths to caress my ring, which rested underneath my white nightgown and in my cleavage. _Hidden from the world,_ I realized with great sadness,_ just like me. _But Seth only wanted to keep me safe, right? So I would respect his wishes – for now, anyway.

Then, I would break free from this makeshift prison and kick some ass!

'_Cause that's just how I roll, Homeskillets…_

Eagerly, I scampered around the bedroom and slowly the sadness began to fade until it was replaced by interest and, if I could be frank, mischief. In other words, I curiously – or rather, _nosily_ – continued to search through several of the dressers and wardrobes, rifling through the contents in search of clean clothes. I managed to borrow a cream tunic, short black trousers, and three leather belts with silver fastenings. Gray boots and matching cloak, too, since I liked to match colors. With these stolen – uh, _borrowed_ – goods in hand, I wandered down the hallway and discovered, to my joy, a restroom of sorts. Yeah!Jackpot!

Thirty minutes passed in which I stripped down to my underwear, cleansed dirty and bloodied skin with soaped water, and assessed the wounds I'd received from the last month of travel. A broken arm, now completely healed, slices and cuts, now completely sealed, and two weird holes in my neck – still _completely_ gross. Nevertheless, I was pretty pleased with the rate of healing. I carefully redressed in the fresh clothing and lounged in front of the window to dry my (yeah, finally) clean hair in the bright sunlight. Edoras, untouched by the chaos and bloodshed of the war as of this moment, remained peaceful.

I glanced out the window and winced when I caught sight of the frightened and forlorn townsfolk walking down the cobblestone paths, heads bowed down to ward off the coming evil. There was peace, sure enough, but little laughter or singing in the streets. I likened it to how I survived for months at a time back at the ranch. In fear of emotional and physical pain. In fear of rejection. In fear of hatred. In constant fear of, well, everything! _Daddy cannot hurt me anymore._

Bluebirds, oblivious to the tense atmosphere, continued to whistle and chirp sweetly in the late morning, bringing rays of golden light to the worried people of Edoras. The sweet music lifted the dampened spirits within me. However, I made the mistake of glancing back down again and grimaced when another sad child wandered by, his clothes old, black, and caked in dirt. I could almost hear the sad violin music playing in the background…

"If you with it, I'm with it; keep it rollin'. We'll be dancin' and drinkin' until the mornin', until the mornin'…!"

Brow furrowed in confusion, I closed both eyes against the sunshine that escaped from between parting clouds and silently admitted: _That was so __**not**__ what I imagined just now!_

My eyes opened, surprised at the cheerful choice in (familiar) music in these hard times, and flickered to the now opening door with the widest smile that I could possibly manage. "Hi, Twin!" I happily exclaimed, leaning forward from my perch to hug him closer to me.

"Hey, Angel," Seth cheerfully greeted before returning the hug with his left arm. Green eyes carefully observed the scabbed wounds at my neck and shoulders. "Ya look nice – much better, too." His smile faded beneath the weight of his (bittersweet) memories. "Much better than when I last saw ya, anyway…"

Concerned, I gestured for him to join me on my window seat, secretly hoping that the beautiful view might distract him from the pain caused by whatever images flickered behind his jade irises like glowing candle flames. I leaned against his shoulder, holding his right hand in both of mine, and counted the minutes until his heartbeat and mine were as one. _One, two, three, four, five._

Finally, I could feel the togetherness that I connected with my sunshine, Seth. "What happened, Twin?" I quietly asked, rubbing the calloused skin of his fingers between my index finger and thumb, to which Seth hummed lightly in appreciation and relaxation. I smiled.

"Well," Seth said, slowly, and then uncrossed his arms. "My wounds healed nicely, and I left Edoras in search o' Lord Eomer. I was wanderin' 'round Fangorn Forest when I heard this really weird rustlin' sound." He scratched at the back of his neck, another sign of his concern. "I seen ya in a pool o' blood, you're neck all tore up and shit, with this dead Spider beside ya…"

My face drained of all color, and I hesitantly reached upwards to touch the scabbed holes in my neck – _bite marks from its pincers_ – before letting out a small noise of disgust. Of all the things in the world! A motherfucking spider! I shuddered in revulsion, knowing that the Spider must have seen me, alone and far from the rest of the Fellowship, and accurately assumed that I'd be easy prey. No one would have known the wiser, either!

In the end, I probably would've died (again, dammit) were it not for –

"Legolas," I breathed, shocked into relative silence. It seemed impossible that the Elf would help me at the risk of his life, given the rocky state of the relationship between His Highness and myself. But I also remembered – with shocking clarity, too – the sudden understanding and that flash of sympathy in his blue eyes when the ancient creature realized that I loved Aragorn with everything that I ever was and would be. That Aragorn was so, so, _so_ mad at me. And that I hated myself for it, too…

No, Legolas wouldn't stand idly by while I died. He wouldn't. His honor and duty to Aragorn wouldn't allow it. My heart swelled, and I smiled, thinking back to Legolas swinging us around and around and around in Fangorn Forest. Back when I thought that I would break down from loneliness and regret – _"Come to me, sweet child." _

Our friendship would not allow it, either.

"So I leaned down to listen for any sign o' life." Seth, who seemed not to hear me, continued his story and grumbled, "Then, I suddenly couldn't move 'cause of this damn arrow in my neck, and I glanced right out the corner a' my eye to see a motherfuckin' Elf pointin' it at me!" He darkly scowled at the injustice of it all.

My lips twitched into a smile at the sight of the strong and stubborn soldier pouting at me. This only served to piss Seth off all the more, but I could not quite stop the small cough of laughter that bubbled to the surface. _Here it comes…_

"Motherfuckin' shitheaded bastard started threatenin' me 'n growled out that I should back the fuck away 'cause you…you…" Green eyes, suddenly filled with hatred for Legolas, darted to me. To my surprise, Seth gritted his teeth together and furiously snarled, "_You_ belong to _Aragorn._"

_My little one. _In my memories, Aragorn laughed at the sour expression in my eyes and tugged lightly at the ends of the blonde ponytail that hit him in his face, smiling when I relaxed faintly and curled into his side, appeased. _My little warrior. _I leaned into his gentle touch and smiled happily at him. Gray eyes were soft with emotions that I could not read; could not understand; not yet; soon. _My Sammy._

"You're in love with him, ain't ya?" Seth warily asked, his expression closed off and void of all emotions. His tone of voice, however, indicated that an answer in the positive would not make him happy in the least. He would be really freakin' pissed!

_You're in love with him. You're in love with him. You're in love with him. You're in love with him. You're in love with –_

"No!" My cheeks heated under the weight of his scrutiny, which remained heavy, and I turned to stare out into the distance, grimly taking note of the blackened clouds that now gathered above Mount Doom. Hands clasped around the ring at my neck, I blankly said, "I belong to no one."

_What the fuck is __**wrong**__ with me? I __**do**__ love Aragorn! I'm __**in love**__ with him! I…I…_

"You're _my_ sister, Sammy," Seth argued back, albeit gently, and reached forward to remove my shaking fingers from the golden jewelry. His eyes searched mine for the unconditional love and understanding that I usually directed towards him in situations like this one. "You _only_ need to _be __**my sister**__._"

_No, Seth, _I mentally whispered the traitorous words to myself, because I could not bring myself to whisper them to him, instead. Hugged myself around the shoulders and smiled softly at the startling realization: _I __**do**__ belong to Aragorn. _My heart skipped before returning to its normal heart rate, and I could feel the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. _I belong __**with**__ him, too._

In spite of all of this, I ceased playing with the necklace and smiled sheepishly at his claim, to which Seth smiled widely in return. "You're right, Twin," I whispered, feeling guilty for the lie. No longer did I feel lost within the whirlwind of their names – _Aragorn, Boromir, and Seth_ _– _screaming in my chest. Instead, I could hear only…

_Aragorn._

My Twin worried his lips between his teeth, as though uncertain if I would understand his next words, and then needlessly explained, "That's why I asked him for permission to take ya out of there – and to here, in Edoras." Seth leaned his head backwards against the frame of the window and sighed wearily. Eyes closed. Heart heavy.

Voice low, filled with pain, Seth continued, "I figured that you'd been wanderin' 'round with the Elf, in danger, and wanted to make certain you were safe and sound." His shoulders hunched forward to ward off the pain of being separated again, something that I could feel, too. "You were so small, and bloodied, and lifeless, Sammy, that I just…I wanted…" He exhaled. "I wanted to cry."

"_What the fuck kinda fairytale ya'll livin' in, girl?"_

"Thanks to you and Legolas, though, I'm right as rain," I said reassuringly, reminding him of the fact by curling both arms around his middle and sinking into his tunic. My hands rubbed circles into his back in an effort to calm him down again. He needed to be calm for the hardships, battles, and decision to come, or else –

_One will die._

"Legless –" Seth muttered his, er, _name_ sourly after another minute of silence, and I snorted, not bothering to correct him, either. "– finally backed off and warily agreed to let me carry ya out here to see a medic."

Yeah, I didn't correct the new nickname given to Prince Legless Longlegs. This last word, however, needed to be addressed if Seth and I were to remain in Middle Earth without drawing (anymore) unnecessary attention to ourselves. "Healer," I corrected automatically, the word translating into the more appropriate terminology without much thought involved.

_Healer,_ I mentally repeated to myself. My fingers traced the stitches sewn into the flesh around the wounds, which appeared to be about the size of silver half dollars, and counted exactly eight pieces of dark thread. The stitches were neat but not sealed shut with Calendula Flowers, and I immediately saddened, thinking of the time my Aragorn cleaned similar scrapes and cuts with such gentle hands. Warm hands that I really wanted to hold. Because I loved him **so** much…

My heart stuttered to a stop, whereas my mind frantically darted backwards through the sentence to double check the words. Stunned, I blinked down at my open palms and slowly, painstakingly reiterated: _My Aragorn…?_

"Oh…" I whispered through the numbness in my veins and lips. My head cocked to the side, I stared at him, feeling both happy and sad with the realization that Legolas permitted Seth to take me. Not to mention the fact that I loved Aragorn! I _was_ in love with him. It finally seemed to dawn upon me, to sink in, and at the worst possible time, too –

Because Aragorn would hate me now.

As always, Seth could feel the emotions coursing in my veins. He pressed his lips to my nose and murmured, "He didn't really want to lemme take ya out of his protection, but I think Legless also realized that you'd be kinda happy to see me." The smile that previously claimed his mouth dropped into a nervous and rather disappointed frown. "You are…uh…happy to see me, right?"

_My Twin! I __**wanted **__to go find __**Seth! **__My precious big brother…_

The memories of wanting to search for Seth, and thus being rude and downright disrespectful to the Fellowship, slammed into me. To ignore the wave of shame, I whirled around – hard enough to give myself whiplash, too – and heatedly declared, "Of course! I just…" I trailed off sadly, also feeling ashamed of the fact that I wanted to leave Seth now that I finally had him within reach, and tearfully whispered, "I just miss my companions."

Seth smiled, but the expression was sad and halfhearted at best. He cleared his throat, wishing to speak past the lump that rested there, right above his heart, and said, "Yeah, I'm glad that yer makin' friends, Sammy." He laughed sadly. "Two thumbs up and all that shit…."

Although I could feel his pain and wanted to talk to him about it, I also remembered that Seth did not like to speak about his feelings – or the lack thereof. So I plastered another fake smile to my mouth and laughed with supposed happiness. I poked him in the chest, like I used to do when I beat him at Mario Kart. My brother would always pout and then return to his previously happy and loud and carefree personality. Until the point in time that Daddy wandered into his bedroom and started throwing books and lamps and other shit at us, anyway…

"You're making friends, too, Seth!" At his somewhat blank and clueless expression, I rolled both blue eyes up and to the wooden beams nailed to the ceiling, praying to the Valar for some semblance of patience. I finally sighed in exasperation and slowly asked, "The Riders, right?"

Immediately, Seth perked upwards and beamed at the mention of his Brothers-In-Arms. "Yeah, I guess you _could_ call 'em that, huh?" He nudged his elbow into my ribs and, true to his bipolar personality, cheerfully exclaimed, "Better n' wanderin' 'round all miserable with just the two of us!"

_Change, Sammy. It is high time that you learn to live for someone other than yourself. Sacrifice yourself for Hope. Live. Have Faith. _

Given these contradictions, I was awash with confusion and frustration, but I did know for certain that…

"…I have a real family, Seth." My blue eyes slowly lifted to meet his green ones, dancing with joy at the prospect of living for the happiness of others, and I whispered, "A real family, with people that love me and watch out for me, just like you used to do all the time."

"Family," Seth murmured, seemingly lost in the search for his personal definition of the word and all that it entailed. His eyes suddenly brightened with understanding. "The Fellowshits are special to you, just like King Théoden, Lord Eomer, and Lady Eowyn are special to me."

To which I smiled, leaning against his relaxed shoulder and thinking about this life that before, once upon a time, I could only imagine. Friends and family, both foreign concepts to me a year or so ago, were now mine to have and to hold. Feeling thankful, I glanced through the frames of the window, marveling that I did not have to dream and live in this beautiful world by staring longingly through the television screen, instead. I was now a part of the story that I loved beyond words. And I refused to stay seated, remain silent, and watch it burn into ashes.

He breathed in through the saltwater that clouded his eyes and nostrils. "You and I have a real family, huh…?" Seth said, gently, and with happiness.

"Yeah," I responded simply and without further explanation. My thoughts, however, remained true to feelings that beat the steady rhythm of heartwarming words – friends, family, hope, faith, love – into my veins.

_Seth and I belong here._

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Woohoo! **Some questions have been answered!** Seth and Sammy are also working towards **rebuilding their relationship** that shattered with his death and hers. How will Fellowship - and Aragorn - fit in with this new character and his relationship to Sammy? **Other questions, like this one, will be answered** in the next chapter, in which **Eowyn** makes her first appearance. The Fellowship will return in the chapter after that one. I have heard from several readers - and also agree, too - that there is some shit that needs to be fixed between Sammy and her companions, yeah? ;)

So. **Foreshadowing.** *Evil Smirk* Anyone catch that bit with the words - **"Have Faith?" ** Yeah.

**P.S.** **Please read and review!** Let's talk about what that phrase - have Faith - really means! :D **Next chapter at around 320 reviews, okay?**


	27. Chapter 26: Reflections In The Mirror

~Chapter Twenty Six~

Reflections In The Mirror

_Never Was I Stronger Than I'm Now.  
>Never Felt This Much A Fool Somehow.<br>Never Had Much Thought For Myself._

_So I'll Seek You Out, Just To Find Myself.  
>I'll Hear You Out, Till I Hear Myself,<br>Hear Myself In You._

_Sad As It May Be,  
>I'm Glad It's Finally Over,<br>When Letting Go Is Never Easy._

_~Seek You Out,_ by Poets of the Fall

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>"Family," Seth murmured, seemingly lost in the search for his personal definition of the word and all that it entailed. His eyes suddenly brightened with understanding. "The Fellowshits are special to you, just like King Théoden, Lord Eomer, and Lady Eowyn are special to me."<strong>

**To which I smiled, leaning against his relaxed shoulder and thinking about this life that before, once upon a time, I could only imagine. Friends and family, both foreign concepts to me a year or so ago, were now mine to have and to hold. Feeling thankful, I glanced through the frames of the window, marveling that I did not have to dream and live in this beautiful world by staring longingly through the television screen, instead. I was now a part of the story that I loved beyond words. And I refused to stay seated, remain silent, and watch it burn into ashes.**

**_Seth and I belong here._**

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><p>Over a period of fifteen days, Seth and I have fallen into sync and reconnected, his soul of golden sunlight bleeding into the silver moonlight that surrounded mine. Two sides of the same warmth, which radiated from his entire being, remained in the heat and fire of his will, his overprotective tendencies, and by extension, his seething anger. He did not appreciate others paying special attention to me, regardless of their gender, and swiftly returned to his old habit of glaring at others and keeping his larger hands wrapped protectively around mine, which curled into his without any verbal complaint.<p>

Nothing was said; I did not speak of the fear that Seth would resent the changes that I underwent to survive in the war ravaged Middle Earth. Our appearances remained similar, with golden hair, wide eyes, slender builds, and lightly tanned flesh, but his values and mine differed greatly now. Seth, who cared little for preparing for the future, paid this no mind. So I remained silent. My worries over our subtle differences remained silent and hidden inside, under lock and key. A secret…

Only then could I pretend that Seth and I were as one once more.

"**Pass** the cheese 'n potatoes," Seth darkly growled, his fork angled dangerously low, towards the unmentionables of the guard at his side. "**Do it**, Brynn, b'fore I **die** a starvation and **eat up** yer eyeballs right outta that **thick skull** of yers!"

The Captain of the Guard, Brynn, eyed this piece of silverware with misgiving and cleared his throat, before reaching out with his gloved hands, pulling the large silver platter of potatoes to him, and warily passing the container of yellow vegetables to Seth. My brother blinked at the mess of potatoes, peppers, and cheese in silence. Turned to stare at the other man and smiled widely in gratitude. His thanks, offered in between the frequent shoveling of food into his mouth, only served to further disgruntle – and disgust – Captain Brynn, Son of Borynn.

_At times like __**this,**__ however, I really wish that I could just vanish, to run away and pretend that I can't claim knowledge of the shared blood running through his veins and mine…_

"_Please _close your mouth and swallow before speaking, Lord Seth," Captain Brynn pleaded, desperate to have his superior listen and act in an appropriate fashion, as was only befitting of his title, rank, and station. Honeyed brown eyes were pointedly focused to little ol' me now. "A Lady is present at the feasting table this evening!"

Taking this as my cue to play along, I glanced upwards, blinked repeatedly at Brynn and Seth. I fanned myself and pretended to pale at the (yes, rather _nauseating_) sight of Seth tearing through his plate of food without a care in the entire world. His mouth, which remained wide open, was practically filled to the bursting! Meat, onions, potatoes, cheese, and bread covered his pink tongue and somewhat yellowed teeth, which glinted in the light when Seth smirked at me.

Seafood, Seth always claimed it to be. Me? I called it funny.

Disgusting, true, but also terribly funny…!

"**Lord Seth!**" Brynn barked, with his hands clenched together in indignation. He glared down at the younger soldier, who merely smiled innocently at him, potatoes peeking through the two chipped teeth to the left of his incisors.

Cue dramatic gasp. My lips parted, feigning shock at this rather undignified display of food consumption on the part of Lord Seth, Son of Daniel. My smile hidden behind the fan I nicked from the Lady to the left, I mockingly shrieked, "By the Valar, Captain Brynn, I am quite appalled with his atrocious manners!"

"I apologize for his behavior, Lady Samantha," Captain Brynn quietly declared, his voice tight with anger. He only relaxed when Seth paused in his actions to daintily bite off another piece of meat off of his fork, chewed slowly, and then turned to me with what Brynn undoubtedly believed to be a sweet and apologetic smile, free of potatoes.

"Yeah, I apologize to thee, Lady Samantha," Seth sarcastically apologized, bowing his head in supposed shame, his forehead practically touching his plate. He lifted his head again, smirked deviously at the knowing glint in my eyes, and asked, "How 'bout some seafood to make it all better, eh?"

As I expected this sort of behavior from Seth, I immediately whipped out my clean salad fork and stabbed it into his thigh, making him yelp and swallow his food without really meaning to do so. I observed him with barely concealed glee, taking note that his eyes watered and leaked from the pain of choking down the mouthful of meat, potatoes, and other large pieces of food. My pink lips twitched upwards in satisfaction.

Puzzled, Captain Brynn turned from Seth to face me and question what could have possibly happened to his comrade in arms. I swiftly schooled the amused expression into one of gentle bewilderment, however, playing the part of Stupid Noble Girl quite well, I might add. (Why is Lord Seth bleeding, Lady Samantha? I do not know, Dear Captain! Perhaps Lord Seth has his monthly pains!) He soon gave up and returned to his lukewarm supper. _Victory! _

Green eyes glittered with feigned dislike. "Bitch," Seth quietly snarled and bared his teeth at me in a grimace, lowering his blonde head to stare directly into my eyes, as if to frighten me into submission. My Big Bad Wolf, how I missed thee.

"Halfwit," I calmly retorted, before lifting my nose in disdain, pretending that his words did not hurt me and make it harder to breathe. Even though I knew that Seth did not – _could not ever_ – mean to _purposely_ harm me.

Not like Daddy. He liked to refer to me as a useless bitch, too. _"'Cause I __**hate **__that you and that blasted boy ain't smart enough to __**git **__gone__and __**stay **__gone!"_God! Motherfucker! I never _could _do anything to fucking please him, could I? I couldn't do _anything _right, with the exception of the night that I ended it all, when I strolled right out in front of that speeding truck.

_You were meant to live…_

…_to be happy, and to be loved… _

But I committed suicide, instead.

"Halfwit…!" To my right, Seth repeated, tensed, and then twitched. His large hands slowly moved towards the sheathed sword at his side; **Bone Biter**,I remembered him calling the jewel encrusted longsword, his weapon of choice. The practiced motion, the ease with which Seth did this action, it was just like Daddy reaching for his belt to discipline me. My heart skipped in fear. _Your Fault, Your Fault, Your Fault. _I flinched, feeling sick to my stomach. _You Are Going To __**Die. **_

For a second, I panicked, thinking that I had accidentally overstepped the line between brother and sister, between friend and foe, between real and make believe. The line that I promised not to cross when Seth and I twined pinkies in third grade. And I did not have to fake the look of fear in my eyes. Not when I softly whimpered. Not when I attempted to melt into my stiff, wooden chair. Not when I begged for the floor to crack wide open and swallow me whole. _Please, Oromë, I wish…_

Glass shattered, breaking through this haze of panic, and Seth and I whirled around to stare at the table, wide eyed in surprise and anticipation. We were waiting, hoping, _praying _for this sort of reaction to our argument. It seemed that Seth and I were playing the right cards, too: Gríma Wormtongue, who clenched his thick fist tightly around the jagged stem of his broken wine glass, was glaring openly at us.

Pale irises flashing with hatred, Wormtongue snarled at us, spittle flying through the air in front of his lips. He slapped his empty hand against the red tablecloth beneath the dozens of platters and bowl, signaling his displeasure, and harshly hissed, "_**Enough!**_"

Silence reigned, thick enough that I could not breathe without feeling like I would have an arrow up my ass, and I nervously glanced from side to side. The Lords and Ladies stared, somewhat shocked, in the direction of this unexpectedly loud commotion, before turning around to glare halfheartedly at Seth and myself. I swallowed nervously around the barbed insults that threatened to bubble to life: _Villains, Bastards, Spineless Cowards…!_

Silently, I stiffened both shoulders and slowly turned back around to stare down at my plate, face pale and expressionless. Candlelight flickered, casting shadows around the scars, markings, and lines that outlined the eyes of ice through which I stared. Likewise, Seth scowled at his plate, a grimace ever present in his sour expression. We were quailed, for the moment at least, but not pleased with the situation at hand. God willing, Théoden would be released within the week.

_You, Child of Manwë, cannot possibly save everyone._

Which, I realized, meant that I would probably die.

_Sacrifice yourself for Hope._

Several milliseconds, seconds, and eventually minutes passed, during which time my silent big brother and I quietly continued eating our supper. When the faint buzzing of polite conversation returned to the hall, however, I glanced to my older brother. Amusement burned wickedly in his forest green eyes, and I smirked smugly back at him, pleased that the plan worked: I'd recently decided that the constant bouts of pretend bickering between him and I would slowly drive the Puppeteer, the Pretender, the False Prophet to (well, further) insanity.

As always, I was right in this simple assumption, and thus continually provoked Seth through petty insults and little shoves to his sides. This behavior proved to be ladylike, with its subtle threats, but extremely effective in annoying the shit out of Seth. My Twin followed suit by taking the bait, snarling out crude insults of his own – _wench, whore _– and threatening to separate my neck and head with the aid of Bone Biter.

That actually managed to scare me…

"Simpleminded creatures," Wormtongue muttered, distastefully, and with the thickest possible curl to his lip. He sneered down at the table of Lords and Ladies from his perch beside Théoden, King of Rohan, through the pale eyes of which stared Saruman.

Annoyed, Seth glared at him, and then grunted quietly in pain when I kicked him in the shin for openly challenging the enemy. We wanted Saruman to have the _wrong_ impression of the good relationship between us, to keep him in the _dark_ about the blood running in our veins. We did **not** want to hint at the ancient magic that rested patiently within us, just waiting to be released within the chaos of the bloodied battlefields ahead, in the future…

_Sacrifice yourself for Hope. You will find Hope. You will find him. _

_Live, Laugh, and Love. You will find love. _

_Have Faith, Child of Manwë! _

So Seth and I continued to snarl, glower, and fuss. Fists curled, teeth clenched in anger as we attacked each other, over 'n over again. Insults, threats, and promises of pain screamed out in the night, when Wormtongue eavesdropped outside our room. _Your fault! Shut the __**fuck up**__!__I…__**hate…**__you! _We screamed at one another.

Nevertheless, Seth and I became nigh inseparable yet again. My brother and I refused to be seen as such while under the watchful glares of Gríma Wormtongue, though, and waited patiently for the right moment to sneak far, far, far away. Escape did find the two of us. We raced horses in abandoned pastures, practiced techniques or weaponry in the armory when the soldiers left for supper, and joined Lady Eowyn in the kitchens later in the evening for midnight snacks.

I liked Eowyn. The Princess of Edoras was a walking contradiction, but I liked her, beyond the shadow of doubt. Her beauty, while understated beneath her plain brown jersey and pale skirts, was practically **blinding** in its intensity when Eowyn genuinely smiled. She was so soft spoken but strong willed, forcing a path where before there were none and plowing right ahead, with or without the blessing of Men.

Eowyn was sweet and kindhearted, too, but seemed envious of the speed with which Seth and I appeared to start our new relationship, which actually started two decades ago, in all actuality…

Not that Eowyn was aware of such longstanding memories! No one, save the Fellowship and the Riders, were even aware that Seth and I shared the bonds of siblinghood. _Twins; Born Together, Die Together. _Unfortunately, Eowyn could not share in that particular secret just yet – for fear that Gríma Wormtongue would hear of it through the grapevine and send word straight to Saruman. _He is the Warrior. She is the Sacrifice. _

We only wanted to be protected, to be safe, to be loved. Just like when we were young children, scared and all alone, with the exception of the other, and seeking refuge from The Other People – Daddy; The Ranchers; The Neighbors; The World. Seth and I cared little for their opinions, but I would be the first to admit that the insinuations only fueled the frequency with which Seth and I touched. Hands clasped, palm to palm, and hands entwined from dawn to dusk. Lips upturned in happiness at the simple joy of being together. _Twins; Born Together, Die Together._

Now, Seth quietly moved his chair closer to me, noticing the lack of attention from the other dinner guests and taking advantage of this opportune moment to attach his hip to mine – literally. The movement of his chair caused the air in the hall to become colder, if that was even _possible,_ and I shivered from the chill. My Twin promptly shoved his left leg out to rest up against mine, pushing his leather booted foot into mine. His warmth escaped from his breeches and through the white leggings that I donned beneath the blue dress I picked out this morning. I welcomed his touch without comment, but I smiled down at my empty plate, and Seth grinned at his.

With his body closer to mine, I leaned to the side, brushing against my older brother. I hugged his right arm in mine, nuzzling into the warmth and comfort of his cloak – dyed forest green, to match his eyes – and murmured, "You know, Seth, I've always loved this color on you!"

"Speakin' o' colors," Seth slowly asked, before reaching for his napkin and pulling it upwards, to his face. He quickly wiped his lips and chewed his mouthful, having learned his lesson last time, it seemed. "Have ya seen my green tunic, by the way?"

"Nope," I swiftly denied, before busying myself with procuring a piece of fresh fruit that rested just within reach, and nervously chuckled at the suspicious gleam in his glowing green eyes. My Twin might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but Seth really did know me inside and out…

As expected, Seth eyed the innocent expression in my eyes with mistrust and pointed his fork at me in an accusatory manner. My Twin narrowed his eyes, annoyed, and growled, "That's pretty weird, Sammy, 'cause last I remember seein' it was right b'fore I started sharin' clothes with ya again…!"

Yeah, I liked stealing items that belonged to Seth. It should not come as a surprise, therefore, that I moved right into his bedroom suite – much like I did back at the ranch, too – and claimed everything within it as **mine.** My brother did not contradict these claims; instead, Seth smiled, grabbed his favorite tunic, and shoved it over my arms, wanting to make it clear that I another Man would be killed without question for looking sideways at me. **Seth** belonged to _me._ **I **belonged to _him._ End of story.

We shared everything, anyway, so what harm could it cause?

Within the first day of being awakened from my comatose state, I began sleeping in his large bed, wearing his tunics and leggings, and bathing with his shampoos, soaps, and lotions, too. His scent effectively covered the fading breath of the medicinal herbs, leather, pipe weed, and smoke that I used to inhale, day in and day out. These familiar smells, which I acquainted with images of Aragorn, were imprinted into my ratty old clothes, dirty hair, and sweaty skin. When I was around only the Fellowship, I could not really tell the difference in my scent and his. Upon coming to Edoras, though, far from his touch, I realized that I smelled strongly of Aragorn.

Now, however, I could tell that his scent was vanishing, slowly fading away…

Resting his head in his hand, which cupped his lightly bearded cheek to hold it in place, Seth stared down at me and whispered, "Ya really miss Aragorn, huh?" Sympathy, rather than pity, glowed in his green eyes.

Thankfully, Seth recognized these feelings, which screamed out for release, to be pulled out from beneath their fleshy cage and set free**.** These feelings urged the upkeep of the strange habit that I had developed, too, which involved sneaking off to his bedroom and locking the wooden door to prevent someone else from entering unannounced. Curling up on our red sheets, I would bury my nose in the dirty, bloodied cloak, which smelled of Aragorn, and inhale deeply. I would breathe – _in_ and **out,** _in_ and **out** – hoping to memorize his essence.

My restless mind flickered to the question whispered quietly by Seth. _Do I miss Aragorn…?_

"Yes," I whispered, firmly shutting my eyes against the worry in his, and hating the feel of his muscled shoulder rolling beneath the skin of the cheek that I pressed against him when Seth moved to hug me. His arms were warm, strong, and hard. Not at all what I wanted. No, I missed the gentle touch of Aragorn too much to appreciate being able to hug Seth now…

Vaguely, I could hear the hustle and bustle of dessert being ushered to the table, and I removed myself from his hold. He stared at me in silence, but I could practically hear the questions that burned in his eyes. I ignored his concern and curiosity for the moment, picking at the tart that Seth offered to share with me, until the point in time that I managed to bite into the delicious treat. Now, I could feel the pain of homesickness dull from a roaring scream and to a softer whimpering in my stomach.

…_Homesickness?_

For the first time in forever, Oromë smiled gently from within the softer shadows in my mind, observed to the honest confusion churning inside me, and kindly whispered: _Home is where the heart is at all times, Child of Manwë. Yours, I see, is with Lord Aragorn. _His head cocked to the side, considering me. _You __**do**__ love him, Dear One. _He chuckled to himself. _You will __**always **__love him._

Shocked at the sudden return of the Lord of the Hunt, I painfully stuttered, "Yeah, I haven't really been apart from him – uh, I mean, _them_ – for too long, and I really miss him – _them!_" My cheeks flushed at the incredibly noticeable slipups in my pronouns, before I groaned quietly out of embarrassment and hunched forward, sullenly waiting for Oromë and Seth to laugh at me.

Oddly enough, Oromë remained silent, whereas Seth scratched his nose and sighed. "I don't like the idea of givin' ya _away,_ really, but I'm willin' to share ya with the right Man, I suppose," Seth softly admitted. His fingers reached out to tweak the freshly trimmed ends of the ponytail that curled down my neck, shoulders, and back, twirling the strands around his thumb.

"If Aragorn is that Man, then…" My Twin paused, considering his next words before speaking for perhaps the first time in his life. Then, Seth smiled at me, gently tugging my ponytail again in the hopes of bringing another smile to light from within me. "So be it."

Speechless, I stared at him with wide eyes, surprised, grateful, happy, and sad, all in one. My big brother was willing to share me, should I want to be married! He pretty much hinted at the fact that his blessing would be offered to Aragorn, if the Man would only ask for it. And I was wrong, so _very_ wrong, when I believed that Seth did not change at all!

No, Seth had matured into an even more wonderfully thoughtful brother. My Twin considered not only my personal feelings, but the feelings of others, too. He remained just as protective of his sister, too, but Seth was now mellow enough to consider the possibility of her having other friends and family – and the distinct possibility of her starting her _own._

Almost immediately, I smiled widely in happiness, pleased with his words and his reaction. I curled further into the warm embrace of the only other person in the world that could understand just how much I wanted Aragorn to love me as a man could love a woman. Yes, Seth could most assuredly relate to the heavy feelings of loneliness, to the desperation to belong to someone, _anyone._ After all, Seth liked…

"Good evening, Lord Seth!"

* * *

><p>***Author's Notes***<p>

**Sorry! ** This is about **one week later** than I wanted to update, but I could not avoid it. I'm sick, I have the worst headache right now, and I have a pretty huge assignment due tomorrow in class. So I should probably start attempting to finish that mess now...

First, though, I wanted to **explain** something. I know that I said that I would add **Eowyn** in this chapter, but I was still righting it about twenty minutes ago and it was about fourteen pages in length! That is about four to six pages more than usual. Not to mention the fact that the next chapter isn't finished yet! But Eowyn is in the next chapter, the chapter after than, and possibly the chapter after that one. Hope that makes it up! :)

As usual, I ask that you **please read and review.** *Stares At Puppy, Who Yawned At Me* You think **b****etween 340** **and** **345** **reviews** is a good idea? Okay then! Majority rules! All hail the Puppy! :D


	28. Chapter 27: Sunrise

~Chapter Twenty Seven~

Sunrise

_And You've Got To Find Your Balance; You've Got To Realize:  
>You've Got To Try To Find What's Right Before Your Eyes.<br>And If You Find You've Fallen And All Your Grace Is Gone,  
>Just Scream For Me, and I'll Be What You're Falling On.<em>

_When You Feel That Way Again,  
>You Have To Stop Your Thinking,<br>And Think of What You're Here For,  
>And Let the Rest of Your Feelings Go.<em>

_Just Give Me The Word,  
>And I'll Be There.<em>

_~Falling On, _by Finger Eleven

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>No, Seth had matured into an even more wonderfully thoughtful brother. My Twin considered not only my personal feelings, but the feelings of others, too. He remained just as protective of his sister, too, but Seth was now mellow enough to consider the possibility of her having other friends and family – and the distinct possibility of her starting her <em>own.<em>**

**Almost immediately, I smiled widely in happiness, pleased with his words and his reaction. I curled further into the warm embrace of the only other person in the world that could understand just how much I wanted Aragorn to love me as a man could love a woman. Yes, Seth could most assuredly relate to the heavy feelings of loneliness, to the desperation to belong to someone, _anyone._ After all, Seth liked…**

**"Good evening, Lord Seth!"**

* * *

><p>In unison, Seth and I stiffened at the arrival of the unexpectedly female intruder, as suggested by her soft voice and quiet entrance. No Man would talk like that around here, with sweet greetings and flowery language, unless it was a secret desire of theirs to be impaled by another of the same gender. Gay pride was rather, uh, nonexistent in Middle Earth. My yaoi fantasies about Legolas and Haldir were quickly dashed that first week in Lothlórien.<p>

Sigh…

Seth nudged his shoulder into mine, recapturing my attention, which seemed to be lacking this evening. Must be tired, I guessed. He and I glanced at one another, a pair of bright green eyes staring into mine with surprise, before swiftly whirling around to appraise her. Pale blonde hair, soft brown eyes, small breasts, and barely curved hips characterized the willowy figure of Lady Eowyn. It was a rather surprising twist – for me, at least – that Seth visibly brightened at her appearance. He preferred his girls to be stick thin, true, but with much larger (and obviously fake) breasts. Kinda like Christina Aguilera. She was pretty much his Dream Girl. Yep.

Eowyn normally smiled back at him with equal happiness, her demeanor brightened by his warm and cheerful presence. Now, however, Eowyn only scowled at him, her annoyance clear but also surprising for the rest of us. It was common enough knowledge that Eowyn loved spending time with Seth – like a moth drawn to the flame, Eowyn gravitated toward him, drawn in by his bright personality, his natural inclination toward laughter, and his belief in gender equality. He refused to belittle her interest in weapons and warfare because Eowyn was of the "fairer gender." In our world, Seth befriended several of his sisters-in-arms, captivated by their stubbornness and their willingness to fight to protect others. To him, Eowyn was no different. She was a warrior at heart.

My brother swiftly deflated, his shoulders visibly falling at the sight of her disapproval. "Hello, Lady Eowyn…" Seth softly greeted. When the noblewoman merely glared at him in turn, Seth cleared his throat, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and made to leave, hurt by her actions.

The Lord of the Hunt, who was now up and running again in my mind, made his entrance with little warning but helpfully murmured: _Child, Gríma Wormtongue is gone and will be none the wiser should Seth need his little sister to comfort him._

_Thanks, Oromë, _I gratefully said, the warmth in my voice audible, and internally smiled at the faceless voice. No matter what anyone else said and believed, I knew that, deep down, Oromë cared about us.

Even if the Lord of the Hunt himself implied otherwise…

Sensing that Seth was upset and downtrodden, I reached out to place my cool palm against his left cheek, holding him there with only the tender warmth in my eyes. I smiled sadly at my older brother when his face turned to me and asked, "Will I see you again later this evening, Lord Seth?"

"No, I actually have things to 'tend to and all that, so…uh…later, uh, I mean farewell!" Seth mumbled. He bowed, first to me and then Eowyn, his blonde hair falling into his reddened face, before practically flying outside. A creaking sound from the closing wooden door followed his rather hasty retreat.

Lady Eowyn stared blankly at the newly unoccupied chair for what seemed like hours, her face drawn into an expression of disappointment. Then, Eowyn folded her hands together, the limbs hanging in front of stomach, and halfheartedly glared at me, eyes narrowed in what could only be jealousy. My heart raced with surprise and in a sudden flash of understanding – you could call it womanly intuition, perhaps – it occurred to me that Eowyn was romantically interested in Seth. Her reaction was so unexpected that I merely blinked back at her, lost in my memories of the past few weeks.

Everything twisted and turned around inside me, a whirlwind of quick images: _Seth and Eowyn hesitantly glancing at the other over a shared meal; Eowyn gently brushing their hands together in the garden; Seth teaching her how to ride like the Men would, with both legs wrapped around the horse; Seth and Eowyn secretly practicing swordplay at dusk; Seth and Eowyn smiling at me as I cartwheeled through the fields – laughing and checking on me when I dropped to the grass, much too dizzy to continue. We all became friends, but Seth and Eowyn always seemed like something more._

Not to mention his response just now, with that sheepish smile and reddened cheeks! My brother was never shy and awkward around girls, least of all the ones that would share his bed – Seth would make vulgar jokes and smirk when the girl invited him back to her apartment. With Eowyn, though, Seth seemed to care about her feelings. Which meant…

…_Seth really does love her, too._

Color me surprised! Sure, Seth loved to kiss, to touch, and to seduce women – sex was pretty much his favorite pastime – but I could not remember him ever caring for the women in his bed. He only wanted to have fun, to have some pleasure before slipping off into the night, unseen. A woman could not sink her claws into him, Seth believed, if nothing but one night stands littered his past like trash. My Twin hated commitment with a passion! At least, that was what I'd originally thought, anyway…

_Guess I am not the only person around here with changed priorities and values, huh? _My eyes were closed against the bright orange and yellow flames of the lit torches, but I suddenly realized that I could actually see more clearly than before. I could read into his actions and understand him more, could comprehend the reason why Seth feared commitment. Could relate to it…

No one wanted to be hurt by love.

"_Answer me, you little brat!" _

**I wanted him to love me.**

_Aragorn…_

"How fare thee this evening, Lady Samantha?" Eowyn kindly asked when I remained silent and lost in my own mind. Her disappointment was all but gone now and replaced by concern and tender warmth for – of all people – me, someone who might be stealing a potential lover and husband from her.

Sleepily, I blinked at the older female, surprised by this sudden change in mood, and then waved at her like a right loon. "I am well, Lady Eowyn," I chirped with another smile, before pointedly lifting the silver spoon in my right hand, "but that's probably due more to the fact that this lemon tart is really good than anything else!"

She seated herself in the chair that Seth previously vacated, prompted by my wordless approval, and giggled lightly upon processing this strange response. Soft brown eyes widened in sudden comprehension, however, when I giggled at these words, too. She moved forward to place her hands to my pink cheeks and forehead, the warmth startling her into swiftly retracting the outstretched limbs. Yeah, I was just that sexy! Hot damn! Grin.

"You are rather hot, Lady Sammy," Eowyn stated with concern and frowned heavily, displeased with this sudden lapse in health. She was my designated healer; Seth requested her assistance especially when I entered Edoras, bloody and unconscious, and begged her to help me. And Eowyn agreed without hesitation.

Because of Eowyn, I was strong enough to move around without assistance and could almost stretch the bowstring to its fullest again, when before I could not have done so. Spider venom whispered through the muscles and made the limbs immobile unless treated correctly, as mine were – and quickly, too. My worst wounds had long since healed because of her care and her extensive knowledge of herbs; however, I was still rather fatigued and predisposed to taking naps. I was not given the chance to nap or rest yet, though, which might explain my sudden lightheadedness and the uncomfortable churning in my stomach. My high temperature also clearly alarmed her. Not that I was really all that worried about it. Shit happened.

"Thanks so much!" I stupidly said, finding great amusement in the fact that I could take that sentence the wrong way without anybody calling me out for being so perverted. "But I don't actually swing that way, so…"

Wide eyed, Eowyn stared at me and blinked owlishly, clearly confused by this (incredibly witty) response. She bit her lip, considering her options, and then hesitantly muttered, "…I beg your pardon, Milady?"

As if I hadn't heard her speak, I stupidly continued, "Really, Lady Eowyn, I prefer men!" My companion opened her mouth, perhaps to ask for more clarification, but I frowned in thought and slowly said, "Well, I prefer _one _man, actually."

Her face dropped into a sad frown, which mirrored the heartbroken expression plastered to mine. No doubt about it: Eowyn was clearly thinking back to the intimate conversation that Seth and I appeared to be having at the moment of her entrance, too, given her softly uttered, "Oh…"

"His name is Aragorn!" I blurted, too tired to think about the consequences of finally speaking of him to another person who might not keep these feelings a secret. The words tumbled out from between my parted lips like cookie crumbs; I'd never really had another girl – uh, woman – to talk to about this sort of thing.

Surprised, Eowyn slowly smiled at me, a sigh of relief escaping her parted lips without much thought. "What about this Lord Aragorn has caught your attention, Lady Sammy?" My friend gently placed her hands around mine, her expression curious but not sinister. Not at all like the fake concern of the girls that I danced and roomed with at the Julliard's School.

"Everything, I suppose, Lady Eowyn," I finally said, musing over my romantic interest with similar curiosity. "He's really sweet, and gentle, and handsome." I smiled, yawning into my palm to stifle the sound. "Like, really handsome, and his eyes are so gray and beautiful and I love him, I mean _them_…"

No longer feeling the need to remain unseen and unobtrusive, Captain Brynn quietly snorted into his glass of wine. He glanced at me, amused, but said nothing. Not that the Captain needed to speak – his expression of gentle amusement said it all. _You are incredibly dense, Lady Samantha._

Between my words and his amusement, Eowyn burst into another fit of giggles, amused beyond words at this confession. She attempted to catch her breath and finally managed to pause in her laughter long enough to respond. "You, Milady, have a wagging tongue when tired!" Eowyn declared with dancing eyes.

I nodded solemnly at this observation, taking it into consideration and yawned yet again, rubbing at my eyes in the hopes of staying awake until I could return to the room that I shared with Seth. Speaking of which –

"Yeah, Seth's always up 'n said that 'bout me, too," I mumbled, before absently taking note of the fact that my accent returned with the need for sleep weighing heavily down on me. It would not be smart to let that little tidbit of information be known by certain malicious parties – _cough, _Gríma, c_ough._

"You sound like him," Eowyn said, her lips upturned at the familiar cadence of honeyed words. Her sweet smile dropped with her next thought, which clearly hurt enough for her to mention it to me, and Eowyn painfully finished, "Were you and Lord Aragorn not to wed, Lady Sammy, I would still believe you to be the perfect match for Lord Seth."

_Who the fuck said anythin' about Aragorn 'n me getting hitched, huh? Sheesh…_

Empathically, I patted her hand with two soft taps of the fingers and gently said, "That's 'cause we're Twins, Lady Eowyn." My head tilted to the side, my smile crooked, and I could tell that Eowyn recognized the mischievous expression synonymous with Seth Ray Steel. The only difference was in the colors of his eyes and mine. Green and blue.

Eowyn stiffened in shock, her back ramrod straight with the force of surprise, her brown eyes wide enough to capture the burning glow of the torches. Her face, bathed in orange, suddenly turned pale and sickly in color. She inhaled sharply and stuttered, "You and Lord Seth…?"

Draining my cup of water (Seth refused to give me any ale) and closing my eyes slowly, I leaned back in the chair to let the food settle before retiring for the night. "We're brother and sister," I confirmed again, thinking her strange for not getting it the first time.

Eowyn gasped, her voice filled with pain and not surprise. Captain Brynn glanced at her in concern, clearly hearing the small sound, and Eowyn covered her mouth with her shaking palm, too startled to do much besides stare at me. She suddenly shoved her chair back with enough unexpected force to catch the attention of the nearby guests, quietly excused herself from the table, and darted from the dining hall without another word.

_What the fuck…?_

Ignoring the suspicious glance from Captain Brynn, I did the same, muttering something about needing beauty sleep, and quickly followed her. She was small and fast, however, which made it hard to keep up. I could only catch the occasional glimpse of her skirts silently whipping around another corner. Sometimes, I would hear wooden doors opening and then closing again, and I would have to pause to figure out which door Eowyn used. I bolted through the hallways, searching behind countless doors, and with growing concern, too. It was getting darker.

Too much could happen in the dark.

"**Slut****.**"

Soon enough, I lost sight of her and squinted into the dark, searching for another sign that Eowyn was somewhere nearby. My blue eyes were narrowed to accommodate the lack of light – there were no torches lit in this part of the fortress because it was used only to store the weapons, the armor, and other miscellaneous war items – but I could not see my companion anywhere. My footsteps faltered, and I slowed to an unwanted but rather necessary stop, glancing around the darkened halls with confusion. Where could Eowyn have escaped to without notice?

A small sniffle could be heard from up ahead, drifting sadly down the hall, and I quickly decided to find the source of the sound. I followed the sound to a small storage alcove at the end of the hallway, stopping only when I could faintly make out the outline of golden hair, white sleeves, and pink skirts shining out against the darkness of the late night. I slowly moved forward and hesitantly seated myself beside her, wanting to hug her, to comfort her, but not knowing how. Instead, I was incredibly quiet and did not speak to her, waiting for her to speak first.

Brown eyes were closed to protect her from the rest of the world, but tears continued to fall down her cheeks like rain. "By the Valar, I miss him so!" Eowyn sobbed brokenly. Her thin arms were curled into her sides like iron rods, the muscles of which jerked from the intensity of her tears and her silent screaming. She could not seem to catch her breath often enough to do so.

My heart ached for her, and I tentatively reached out to touch her arm with gentle fingers. _Oh, Eowyn…_

Once upon a time, I shattered like glass, too. This one was a pose that I recognized well, because I'd foolishly believed it to hold the pain inside when Seth died. I would curl into myself, limbs to torso, wondering how in the world that this could happen to him – to _me_. All I wished for at that moment of pain was to be frozen, like ice, and numb to the searing agony of the empty, black hole inside the heart that beat itself against my ribcage, seeking to escape. I cried for weeks, for months, in the hopes that I would eventually expel the pain through the tears. I screamed until I couldn't anymore. My throat was much too raw, my voice too broken, to continue.

Nothing made it better, though.

Nothing…

"Why did Theodred have to die?" Eowyn wailed, almost desperate in her attempts to voice this question; the sound of pain, of confusion, ripped itself from her throat with a mean vengeance. It burned in her eyes, making the irises shift from the softness of chocolate brown to the coldness of dark onyx. "Why…?!"

As someone who'd asked this question of God and received only silence in return, I could not offer her an answer that would make sense. _You call him God. _Yes, Seth died. _You prayed to Him. _Just like Theodred. _He took mercy upon your soul. _But Seth returned to me. Theodred, however, was dead and would likely stay that way. No, Theodred would not be returning to Eowyn anytime soon…

Heaven and Hell did not exist in Middle Earth, where Gods and Goddesses thrived, and magic filled the air. Of course, I did not know much about the Valar, either. So it would be cruel to offer her my condolences and hopeful words of another world beyond this one, where Eowyn and her older cousin, Theodred, would meet again. I could not guarantee this to be true. What little I'd believed to be true of death and the afterlife proved false when I died. _You call him God. We – the Valar – call him Manwë. He is King._

So I remained quiet, contemplating what I could possibly do to help this grieving young woman, who I could someday be a sister to me, should Seth make the right choice. In the end, I could only sigh in defeat and whisper, "I do not know, Eowyn."

Eowyn, who had received little comfort in these dark times, stared at me in shock. My honesty – _I do not know _– seemed to catch her completely off guard, to the point that Eowyn ceased her cries and only breathed shakily in and out. Considering that Gríma might have spoken to her recently, however, I should not have been surprised. He seemed fond of whispering his poisonous lies to the Shield Maiden that caught his lecherous eye.

_Bastard…_

"But I think," I slowly added, thinking back to my own memories of the months spent here in Middle Earth, without Seth, "that Theodred would want you to grieve for him, and remember him, but then continue on with living this life given to you. He worked hard to keep it safe." Like Seth, Theodred went out to war to protect his country, his people, and his cousin.

"How do I continue living when someone so important is naught but an empty shell in the cold, dark ground?" Eowyn darkly demanded, her voice ringing bitter and harsh in my ears. She was entitled to her pain, though, and this was a chance for her to grieve, so it did not bother me.

My dream, in which the voice of Oromë whispered to me, came to mind then, and I smiled at her instead of berating her for being mean and rude. "Continue to live, to love, and to laugh," I whispered to Eowyn, brushing her damp hair out of her tearstained face, "for Theodred."

Eyes watering again, Eowyn gasped out, shoulders sagging in relief. The weight of the world vanished from her shoulders and in its place, I put my arms. I pulled her closer to me, wrapping her into my warm embrace, and rocked her back and forth, like Seth used to do when I cried out from the nightmares in which Daddy starred, front and center_. _She sobbed quietly, until the noises faded into the darkness, and only the sound of her breathing and mine filled the air.

Softly, I brushed her hair back behind her ears and then whispered to her a song that haunted me – "_Cold and far away, like you're not even mine, undo everything and take me higher! Never believing what they say, 'cause I'm counting the days to meet you on the other side. I will always be waiting until the day that I see you on the other side. Come and take me home._"

When Eowyn calmed down, lulled into silence by the weight of her thoughts, I pulled back marginally and turned to stare out the windows, where I could hear birds calling and singing of all the good to come. She turned her head, too, and quietly glanced through the window, into the green distance offered by wide horizon. Red, yellow, orange, and blue streaks painted the night skies with the brilliant colors of dawn. Together, Eowyn and I watched the sun rise again. We clasped hands, arms, and shoulders together and witnessed the dawning of another day.

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Sorry for the delay! I wanted this chapter to be perfect, but I was not satisfied with it until tonight. Now, I really, really, really like it and want to share it with you. Thanks for being patient with me. *Ducks to Avoid Rotten Tomatoes and Frying Pans* Okay, yeah, I guess that I deserved that! Anyway, I hope you all like the growing friendship between Sammy and Eowyn and liked the lyrics from "The Other Side," by Evanescence. More in the next chapter, then...

THE RETURN OF THE FELLOWSHIP...!

Ha, ha! Get it? The Return of the...

Oh, never mind.

**_Read and review please! _ **


	29. Chapter 28: Breaking Dawn

~Chapter Twenty Eight~

Breaking Dawn

_You Say the Story's Ending,  
>But I Think It's Time We Stop Pretending.<br>No, I Can't Let You Turn the Page._

_No More Empty Promises;  
>They Don't Exist, Just Me Out In The Open.<br>I Know This Will Take Time…_

_Can We Put the Past Behind Us?_

_~One Last Chance, _by Daughtry

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Softly, I brushed her hair back behind her ears and then whispered to her a song that haunted me – "<em>Cold and far away, like you're not even mine, undo everything and take me higher! Never believing what they say, 'cause I'm counting the days to meet you on the other side. I will always be waiting until the day that I see you on the other side. Come and take me home.<em>"**

**When Eowyn calmed down, lulled into silence by the weight of her thoughts, I pulled back marginally and turned to stare out the windows, where I could hear birds calling and singing of all the good to come. She turned her head, too, and quietly glanced through the window, into the green distance offered by wide horizon. Red, yellow, orange, and blue streaks painted the night skies with the brilliant colors of dawn. Together, Eowyn and I watched the sun rise again. We clasped hands, arms, and shoulders together and witnessed the dawning of another day.**

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><p>"By the Valar, I love the sun…"<p>

Smiling gently at the other girl, I leaned backwards, bracing myself to stare through the open window as a ray of sunshine slipped within, warming us. I quietly agreed with her and mumbled something along the lines of Seth being as warm as our sun, whereas I remained cold, dark, and brooding, like the moon. Warmth made it harder to stay awake, but I continued to talk, to tell her of how strange it was to have lived out of his shadow for this long and to be expected to return to hiding in it again. She, as a woman in this time period, could understand, right?

Women were expected to stand silently **behind **Men…

So why did I not want to be in his shadow?

_I wish…_

Sleep colored the words, made their meaning much harder to understand, but Eowyn listened intently all the same as strange words of how Men and Women were equal at home slipped out. My mentions of Seth made her stutter softly and blush hotly in embarrassment, which I found to be lovely for her pale skin. Her cheeks lightened almost immediately, however, upon recalling the rather judgmental view I offered to describe myself. She glared at me, annoyed with this assessment, deeming it incorrect.

"You are _not _Lord Seth and _do not_ have to be within his shadow if you've no wish to be there." Warm brown eyes assessed the surprise and the fears in my own, making her next sentence far gentler when Eowyn softly whispered, "You, like the moonlight, shine brighter than the stars, Sammy."

Blink. "Thanks, Eowyn," I whispered, listening to the lack of formality in her voice and returning it because I wanted to be her friend. She was the first female that I could tolerate and relate to, speaking thoughts that I usually only shared with Seth and Aragorn. It lightened the heavy burden in my chest to speak – and to listen – to Eowyn.

Wise beyond her years, apparently, Eowyn smiled and patted her hand against mine, before retracting it. My companion yawned quietly into her hand, hugged her form to mine once more, and then silently climbed to her feet, dusting the dirt from her sullied skirts with tired hands. She walked back down the hallway, intent upon gaining early breakfast from the kitchens, but did not travel past the doorway until I caught up. With her silent invitation in mind, I trailed behind her until the point in time that Eowyn chuckled faintly and pulled her hand, which was connected to mine, forward. I tripped down the hall and yelped loudly, caught by surprise, but managed to find balance again upon standing next to her, side by side. Friends…

Smiling tiredly, Eowyn turned another corner and glanced down the suspiciously empty walkway, which carried onward to the Main Hall. Strange voices – ice cold but filled with burning hot anger and fury – leaked down the hallway like black ink. We stared into the abyss, startled at the strange aura of hatred and fear and despair screaming from within its depths, and then warily glanced to one another, unsure of what to do next.

Something…

Something was **wrong.**

"Oi, Gandalf the Grey is here!" Seth exclaimed loudly, his voice ringing through the hallowed halls, only just audible of the clanking of his boots, armor, and sword. My brother waved his armored hands to us, gesturing to follow him, and darted back down the hallway. Head high. Strong.

"Well, I suppose we should play Follow-the-Leader, then?" I finally suggested, blankly, and staring into the empty space where Seth bounced around just seconds before; Eowyn blinked at the same spot with wide eyes. We slowly glanced at each other and then made haste, darting swiftly down the old tiles to reach the taller blonde.

A soft, exasperated breath of air escaped from Eowyn as another nail caught her dress in the whirlwind of the chase. "What has happened, Lord Seth?" Eowyn loudly demanded, projecting her voice to be heard above the cry of metal hitting metal, which meant – _swords._

_Who could __**possibly**__ be fighting right now…?_ My brain stuttered through the possible scenarios and resurfaced from the memories of _The Lord of the Rings, _coming up empty handed, totally lost as to why Gandalf the Grey would be in Edoras. Evil laughter parted the heavy air like knives through butter, and I inhaled sharply. My eyes widened marginally. _Unless…!_

"The Fellowshits have arrived to take back Edoras!" Seth briskly responded, his military persona rearing its head in that moment. His boots carried him through the hallways at breakneck speeds, which I only managed to copy as a result of the long months spent trekking though the Wild with Aragorn and Co. Eowyn managed to maintain the same speed, but only barely, and with _plenty _of her time spent gasping for oxygen.

The Shield Maiden opened her mouth to speak but gasped for another breath, clutching the stitch in her side with annoyance. She appeared to be winded; thus, I asked what Eowyn and I clearly wished to know. Purely out of confusion, I raised both eyebrows at him and slowly drawled, "Isn't their arrival in Edoras a _good_ thing, then?"

Green eyes clashed with mine. "Not when Gríma Wormtongue's taken the Staff of Power from the Wizard," Seth grimly stated, his jaw clenched, shoulders stiff with tension, and hair falling around his face like the Fallen Angel I believed him to be.

"What?" Eowyn breathed through her nose and stared at the silent Seth, lost to his meaning as a small, worried frown claimed his lips. A hand darted forward to catch his arm, desperate for answers, and the Shield Maiden begged, "Please! Do you mean that Uncle is in trouble?"

_You have changed too much, I fear, _Oromë suddenly whispered, his voice nervous and tense, _in your endeavor to change nothing at all._

Comprehension immediately illuminated the scared expression in my eyes.

…_Gríma!_

Blanching, I quickly skidded to a stop, my stiff knees almost buckling with the effort of doing so. My eyes wide with terror, I whirled around and then bolted back down the hallway, from where Seth, Eowyn, and I'd just come. Seth called out to me, panicked, but I waved him and Eowyn off, telling the confused pair that I would meet up with them again in the Main Hall. My eyes were wide with fear but filled with determination. I zipped back through the lightened halls, cursing when I heard the sounds of heavy footsteps – lots of 'em – pounding behind me. I immediately realized that someone was quickly following me. Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward, running harder and faster, like the Devil followed in my wake. _Catch __**me?**__ Ha!_

**Yes!** I burst into the armory ahead of the mysterious figures chasing me, and I quickly spotted the small collection of confiscated swords, knives, bows, and throwing axes, which all belonged to the members of the Fellowship. I hastily moved the sharp items to the side, though I wished to take one or two and stab Gríma in the eye, and ignored the majority in favor of grabbing the Staff of Power. When the wooden door banged opened, slamming against the wall, I was standing tall and staring straight at him. Poised and ready to fight.

A soldier glared at me, annoyed with this little act of rebellion, his golden stare barely visible through the shuttered visor of his protective metal helmet. His left hand, gloved to the elbow and empty of his weapon, reached out to hover in front me. He roughly demanded, "Hand it over!"

"Not a chance in H-E-Double Hockey Sticks!" I growled back, and to my infinite surprise, the Staff twinkled with energy and expelled several red clouds of fiery smoke. My mouth split into a wide smile, pulling at my eyes and making the corners crinkle in delight. I paused, taking in the seriousness of the situation, and squealed, "…HOLY SHIT, THAT WAS SO _COOL!_"

Another loud **bang** followed this exclamation of excitement, making the thought that maybe, just maybe, the Staff could be powered by emotion enter my mind. A crystal, which rested within an intricately designed enclosure of white thorns, twinkled cheerfully at me, a smile hidden within its warm cocoon. Kinda unnerving, honestly, but whatever! Regardless, I silently cheered for the Staff when it burped out another wave of magic – thick black fog covered the storeroom, from floor to ceiling, within seconds.

"Booyah…!" I whispered, having the sense of mind to remain quiet while I sneaked through the weapons storeroom, searching for the only entrance and exit to its metal innards. It would not do to capture the attention of the enemy. Nope, I needed to bring the Staff to Gandalf. Speaking of which, I stared down at the Staff, stunned into amazement as another, smaller crystal appeared beside the first, circling around and around and around. A Merry-Go-Round of Magic! Cool!

Loudly, Oromë trumpeted his hunting horn and then bellowed: _A Time of Sacrifice is upon us!_

…_WHAT?! _I immediately responded, running into the heavy wooden frame surrounding the – open, closed, could not tell which – door. Another, rather unladylike yelp escaped from between parted lips, and I mentally hissed, _Dammit, Oromë! What the fuck is going on __**now?**_

_You must make the first Sacrifice! _The Lord of the Hunt proclaimed, pointing his trumpet at the small flame of magic that burned at the top of the magic. I nearly dropped the Staff, fearing the unknown. _Your past keeps you scared and holds too tightly to your potential; thus, it must be Sacrificed!_

_That makes __**no**__ sense! _My face scrunched in confusion. _How do I Sacrifice my past…?_

_**LOOK OUT! **_

Alarmed, Oromë cried out to me, uninterested in answering my question in favor of pointing out the sword aimed for me, to which I raised the Staff, shocked, and watched the thick metal bounce back, reverberating with the aftershocks of the hit. Another cloud of smoke whispered out from within the white thorns of the Staff because of the force of the strike; it burped loudly. Me? Well, I blinked at it and then laughed hysterically with glee, of course!

While the soldier and his newly arrived friends coughed loudly and hacked at the burning of the smoke within their throats, I burrowed further into my tunic, covering my nose with the material. It blocked out most of the smoke, keeping the air in my nose and lungs fresh enough to breathe without coughing it back up, and I bolted back out of the armory. I made my way through the halls again, following the sounds of the scuffle because I'd no other way to find the Main Hall. Sadly enough, Seth usually helped escort me where I needed to go, as my sense of direction pretty much involved finding the nearest McDonald's. Navigating Edoras? Not so much!

Speaking of the Devil, Seth was currently releasing his frustrations as another Man attempted to touch Eowyn …

"Put 'er down!" Seth bellowed out, sounding like the bull at the Ranch while charging the Man. He snarled and kicked him where it hurt, too, before pushing the smaller girl behind him, where Eowyn would be safe. She looked ready to argue, realized her weaponless state, and then stayed quiet. Grateful for his protection, I guessed. "Touch 'er again, and I'll shove my collection o' knives up yer ass!"

My brother, Ladies and Gentleman, was much like Fíli Oakenshield with his hidden weaponry…

Amused, I snickered and briefly wondered: _Does that make me the Kíli to his Fíli, then?_

My strange musings, which made traveling back sixty years sound pretty good, suddenly tapered off into awe. You see, not two seconds later, Aragorn and Boromir whipped by my older brother and Gandalf, swiftly throwing punches to the faces, and shoulders, and stomachs of various Men. Legolas also delivered countless punches to his rivals, and Gimli, always the enthusiast, joined the fistfight with his boisterous laughter. His meaty hand slipped out amidst the fray and grabbed Gríma, easily keeping him in place by holding his collared tunic to his face.

A deadly gleam entered his honey brown eyes and made his warm countenance more sinister in appearance. "You and Saruman do not seem so mighty, eh?" Gimli huffed, his ginger beard twitching in different directions because of the weight of his dark smirk of amusement.

"You are all **nothing,** Dwarf, without your weapons," Gríma nastily hissed between his yellowed teeth and sneered back at him with thin lips upturned, "Least of all the Wizard, who lacks his precious _Staff_."

"Oh," I said pleasantly, drawing attention to the fact that I walked through the Main Hall with nothing but a smile, light dress, and – the Staff. Dramatically making my entrance, I stepped out of the shadows and into the midst of the suddenly paralyzed contenders of the brawl; Aragorn stopped mid punch to stare at me. "Ya'll wouldn't happen to be talkin' about _this_ ol' Staff, would ya now?"

"Lady Sammy," Gríma snarled, taken aback by the sudden change in posture and accent that I let slip through the cracks, looking like it was expected but surprising all the same. How strange. "I command that the Staff be returned to me!" His filthily wrapped hands darted out to reach for its white handle. "…Give it here, wench!"

An innocent smile painted itself upon my mouth and within the glow of the blue eyes staring straight at him; then, I stepped forward until I could hand it over without stretching too far, but remaining just out of his reach, and sweetly said, "If you insist…"

The Fellowship all called out for me in stunned horror, thinking that I would truly hand the Staff of Power to Gríma Wormtongue, and started for me. Gandalf, however, successfully restrained the Men, Elf, and Dwarf by placing his long arm out in front of the horrified people I'd finally come to admire, trust, and love. Rejection was painful back in Fangorn Forest, but I think I needed it to stay sane, to be ready for this moment in time, where I would be expected to…

_Sacrifice. You must Sacrifice your past for Hope. He is the Future. He is YOUR Future. _

"Hold, I say," Gandalf murmured, his ancient blue eyes on mine, as if reading slowly through what could be whispering in my mind. I smiled widely at him, unafraid of his perusal of the thoughts, worries, and fears inside of me. His shoulders dropped with relief, and Gandalf nodded back at me, respectfully almost.

Jerking it back and raising it upwards, I started to channel the burning energy inside me, a sensation of fire and brimstone echoing in my veins, muscles, and bone. Both Heaven and Hell screamed from within me. I silently observed his face, haggard and wild eyed with fear like my own, and screamed, "Take it, then!"

I slammed the heavy weapon into his forehead, making the skin split open and explode with red blood. Blue eyes wide, startled, stared down, first at the bloodied white weapon in my palm, and then toward the bloodied, soulless shell of Gríma Wormtongue. He was slumped backed into the pillar, forehead partially missing and crimson rivers flowing into his eyes and nostrils. No sight. No breath. No pulse bounced in his throat. Gríma was gone.

_Oh, God! I… _My stomach clenched and unclenched repeatedly, threatening to spill its contents all throughout the Main Hall, where I ended the life of another human being. _…I __**killed **__him…_

"Come to my side, Wizard and Warrior – Samantha, Heir of Manwë, and Seth, Heir of Eru!" Gandalf cried, walking forward and holding his hand out to me as another step pulled him further toward King Théoden. When I rushed forward to hand him the staff, though, Gandalf reached down to curl his fingers around mine, instead. Seth also darted forward, hearing his own name and title called, and slipped his hand in the Wizard's right one. "Release him, Children…!"

Magic exploded from within the Staff of Power. Green waves colored Seth in the glow of the Warrior, bathing his scars in magical glow, whereas the blue light of the Wizard cascaded down my small form, filling the scars, cracks, and crevices left by weapons on my pale skin. Glancing to Seth, I could vividly make out a sun rune carving itself into his tanned forehead. A crescent moon, small and blue, etched itself into my own. We stared straight at each other, taking little notice of Gandalf, who removed his hands from ours, and pushed empty hands together, and smiled.

_Sammy. _My mind drifted back through the conversations of earlier this morning, when Eowyn smiled at me and whispered her words of truth. _You shine brighter than the stars._

"Rebirth," Seth and I breathed together, touching foreheads together, letting the sun and the moon meet, becoming one. We turned. We breathed in. We raised the Staff of Power, holding it within his hands and mine, and then the music started. A guitar, drums, and pounding bass.

Voice deep, Seth huskily started, "_Rebirthing now, I wanna live for love, wanna live for you and me._" And I raised mine to carry in and above his. "_Breathe, for the first time now. I come alive, somehow!_" We closed blue eyes, green eyes, mouths, and finished, "_Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside. Tell me when this fear will end! Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside._"

Silence reigned, but I smiled softly upon opening my eyes and seeing Aragorn staring at me, a strangely tender expression painted to his face. I stared straight into his eyes, singing only to him, and whispered, "_…Tell me when I'll feel alive…_"

Light exploded from the hidden depths of the crystals that rested within the intricately carved top of the staff. Dark blue, for the night and the moon, and light green, a color that symbolized the warmth of the grass under the sun. It projected sparks, symbols of musical signs and stars, and then Seth and I noticed it – _Sammy and Seth, about sixteen years old, raced through the fields, Stardust and Arrow racing neck and neck for the lead. Laughter filled the night air. Daddy raised his fists. We screamed. It started again. Rewind. __**Repeat.**_

Gasps and yells of shock, surprise, and confusion sounded from behind Seth, who remained strongly at my side, always the protector. We ignored the sounds of their fear, their disgust, their mistrust, and just stared at the magic, in awe, as we realized –

_We could return to…_

…Earth.

"It's a portal!" I breathed, stunned at the mere possibility of such amazing magic, and then reached out to touch it with trembling fingers. My pale hand stopped, however, just shy of touching the rippling edges. I stared at Seth and could read the indecision in his eyes. Use the magic to help free King Théoden, closing the portal and remaining here, forever? Or going home, changing what could have been and starting over?

_Which path shall the Chosen Ones take…?_

"…Samantha!"

"Seth…!"

Unresponsive, Seth and I stared straight ahead, into the midst of the swirling memories within portal, and remembered all of the pain, the hardships that we endured before coming here. We were just as pained and troubled here, it seemed – the difference, however, was our support of and from the people who cared about us, a magical feeling of affection that made everything much easier to overcome. I inhaled and lifted both hands together, palms up in a practiced motion of spellcasting that Seth copied without too much trouble. We stubbornly shoved, pushing the force forward and expelling the open vacuum within the portal, focusing the incredibly raw magic behind its gates. Toward Théoden.

"You battle against K'Arran, Lord of the Fire." He smirked down at us and darkly whispered, "Chosen by God, yet you've little power to speak of!" He sneered, and I realized that this was **not** Saruman, but a minion of Lucifer, from _our_ world. "You will not expel from him my spirit." Evil laughter. "In fact, I shall send the little _Chosen Ones_ back from whence they came – straight back to **Hell!**"

Magic started to shove back at us, making the portal loom closer and closer to us, a warning that something sinister would happen should Seth and I travel back in time, to Earth. We were meant to be _here,_ in Middle Earth, and _refused_ to give up! We panicked momentarily, knowing that it would swallow us whole, and pushed harder, forcing it to open up and devour the Lord of the Fire, K'Arran. The Demon vanished with not another word. A wisp of smoke signaled his departure.

Too soon, though, Saruman appeared without further ado and shoved Seth into the pillar nearest the throne. I screamed, caught completely off guard, and bolted toward him, panicking when the broken remains of the shattered portal shifted and formed the barrier that parted Twins. Gandalf jumped forward, removing the Staff of Power from my closed palms, and confronted the White Wizard. He bravely ignored his coldhearted taunts and promptly removed his older cloak; it burst forth with the incredible light of Gandalf the White.

"Ah!" Théoden painfully cried out at the feeling of his magic coursing through his veins, before hissing out the words spoken by Saruman, who commandeered his body for his own as a master puppeteer. He snarled out again and reminded: "You will kill him, too, if I fall from this skin!"

"The Wizard and the Warrior removed the Daemon from his body, and I shall follow in their steps, removing your poison from within him, too," Gandalf quietly insisted, leaning over us to shove his Staff forward. Lips moving, words flying, Gandalf the White made quick work of expelling the monstrous creature from within the King. "_**You cannot win!**_"

"Rohan is _mine!_" Saruman viciously declared, flying forward to scratch the person nearest him, which turned out to be me. A sharpened fingernail slipped through the skin, marking it with yet another scar that burst blue with the magic of the Valar. _You shine brighter than the stars._

"Fuck off!" Seth and I bellowed, furiously angered by this last display of dominant strength, and projecting raw magic at the monster, Saruman. Waiting while Gandalf added his magic to the mix, and then –

A butterfly, Théoden emerged from within its confines of his silken cocoon and returned to us, anew. His skin, eyes, and demeanor appeared decades younger, shining with vitality, and Eowyn smiled in joy. My Seth urged her forward with his friendly smile, helping her up the stairs, and Eowyn collapsed before her Uncle. She stared into his eyes, grateful for his return, her smile wide and her teeth showing in her happiness. Tears filled her eyes. "Uncle…"

"Dark were my eyes and nightmares, Eowyn," Théoden responded, but his eyes slowly drifted to Seth and me. "Yet I see now a woman, my niece, who holds the heart of this Man, the friendship of this Woman, and strength of her People." He smiled gently down at the three of us. "There is yet hope for Rohan."

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Woohoo~! We're moving right along now! I have taken the time to **map out the rest of this story and know exactly what to write**; hopefully, I will bring chapters to you more often and much faster. Now, I know that also **introduced several strange concepts** in this chapter that have only been hinted at during this story - it takes place in 2012, for example, and talks about Armageddon, the end of Earth - but most of it will be **explained next chapter**. **Gandalf** is omniscient and wise like that! :)

P.S. **Please, please, please read and review!** I really want to hear what you've thought of this chapter because it is different from the rest and busy with all of the new stuff. Did you like "Rebirthing," by Skillet? What do you think about the "my" Staff of Power? **About 360 reviews,** **please?** Incentive, you ask? There will be a **nice little LEMON **in the** Chapter 30/31**. ;)


	30. Chapter 29: Embracing Dusk

~Chapter Twenty Nine~

Embracing Dusk

_Is There Anybody Out There  
>That Wakes Up With A Bitter Taste?<br>It's The King That We Put Up There,  
>And He's A Short Way To Fall From Grace.<em>

_Wasting Away, I See You,  
>When The Top of the World Falls On You.<br>Finding A Day, Don't Wanna Be You…_

_It's Time You Lost Your Crown._

_~Top of the World, _by All American Rejects

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>Seth and I bellowed, furiously angered by this last display of dominant strength, and projecting raw magic at the monster, Saruman. Waiting while Gandalf added his magic to the mix, and then –<strong>

**A butterfly, Théoden emerged from within its confines of his silken cocoon and returned to us, anew. His skin, eyes, and demeanor appeared decades younger, shining with vitality, and Eowyn smiled in joy. My Seth urged her forward with his friendly smile, helping her up the stairs, and Eowyn collapsed before her Uncle. She stared into his eyes, grateful for his return, her smile wide and her teeth showing in her happiness. Tears filled her eyes. "Uncle…"**

**"Dark were my eyes and nightmares, Eowyn," Théoden responded, but his eyes slowly drifted to Seth and me. "Yet I see now a woman, my niece, who holds the heart of this Man, the friendship of this Woman, and strength of her People." He smiled gently down at the three of us. "There is yet hope for Rohan."**

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><p>"No parent should have to bury their child, Lady Sammy."<p>

Blue eyes were soft with tears, staring into the distance with memories of another time, another world altogether. I could only reach out and touch his wrist, uncertain if this silent condolence was improper or unwelcome – to my relief, however, King Théoden only placed his hand atop mine. Glanced down to offer me a watery smile that matched the tears brimming in his older eyes. A shaky sigh escaped from between his parted lips, which quickly morphed into loud, heartbreaking sobs that tore through the otherwise empty burial grounds. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head in front of the new grave marker, staring mournfully at whatever remained of his son. Torches outlined the path to his final resting place. White flowers blanketed his grave. And Théodred slept on.

_Did Daddy feel like this when Seth and I died? _I halfheartedly wondered, entertaining the delusional thought that the rude and abusive old bastard actually loved his children to fester in my mind for another second. Another image, this time of his fist slamming roughly into Seth, hitting him in the cheekbone, derailed the first train of thought. And I snorted. _Doubt it!_

"You claim that you've died, Lady Sammy," King Théoden continued, seemingly to the grave of his dead child, and clenched his fistful of white flowers with tense fingers. "It hurt, I know, but does the ache lessen when you've passed to the Halls of Mandos? Will Théodred be at peace?"

Teeth against cheek, I paused long enough to consider how best to answer a question that I really, honestly, should not try to answer. I finally settled and decided to give him the vague answer that I passed to his niece, Eowyn. Death hurt! Being crushed by an eighteen wheeler and then being drawn and quartered sucked major ass. But I did not think Theodred would be treated like that in the Afterlife. He was a prince, a warrior, a soldier. Somebody who fought _tooth_ and _nail_ for his people!

A Hero…

"Sir, I don't claim to know much about the Other Side, but I know that Prince Théodred battled bravely against his enemies – your enemies – to keep his people and homeland safe. I think that the Valar, particularly Oromë, will fight for his right to exist in peace," I honestly replied, heart in my eyes as my soul ached for his loss.

"His spirit, although lost to us now, was strong in life and will most certainly find its home with your ancestors," Gandalf quietly agreed. He reclaimed the Staff of Power from my clutches, the weariness in his voice lessened by the sincerity in his ancient eyes, which acknowledged first Théoden and then me –

"Home, I have heard, is where the heart is…"

The Wizard placed his hand to my shoulder, his touch stronger than I anticipated, and began to lead the way up the dirt trail, leaving King Théoden to his grief. Long and thin, the trail winded around and into the borders of Edoras. But Gandalf and I did not make it that far, distracted by the distant thundering of hooves beating against the grass and rocks. Dirt exploded from the monstrous sized horse that continued to rush through the fields, hiding the rider – _or_ _riders_ – from view.

While this lack of vision bothered Gandalf, I was instead relieved and quickly started to walk toward the pair of children that I knew to be riding the large horse to Edoras. When questioned by the Wizard, I smiled widely at him, and exclaimed, "Although I've been a meddlesome brat, I'm almost positive that the storyline is still the same! Ѐothain and Freda are alive and well, too."

"That is good," Gandalf breathed, but his eyes suddenly widened and darted back to the filthy horse, Garulf. His weathered face, already drawn with exhaustion, paled to an unnatural shade of white. He quickened his pace as a particularly nasty jump caused the horse to stumble.

_Shit, Sammy! _My face dropped, frozen in fright, and I mentally slapped myself for being entirely too optimistic: _Famous last words…_

It seemed that I'd spoken much too soon. Not two seconds later, the boy that I believed to be Ѐothain of the Rohirrim collapsed from the saddle strapped around the belly of his horse, as was written in by Tolkien in _The Lord of the Rings_. **That,** I expected. What I did **not **expect, what I could not **possibly** have foreseen, was that the exhausted preteen would drag his sister into the dirt right alongside him, the cloud of dirt further frightening the horse. At the loss of his riders, his charges, Garulf began to buck and wildly thrash his head around. His front hooves hit the ground again, dangerously close to the two unconscious Rohirrim, Ѐothain and Freda.

So I rushed forward without hesitation, horrified but determined to help, and reached for the leather reins that whipped beside his head. Years of experience guided the quick actions, and I let instinct take over as my pulse screamed painfully in my ears. My hands carefully twined the leather around curled fingers, lifting and pulling at the exact same moment, successfully giving Garulf the illusion of free will while simultaneously snatching it away. And I wanted to _cry._

Grunting, I pulled harder and yanked his head back down, hot sweat dripping down his body and mine. Foam gathered around his lips and his eyes widened in fear, but I refused to give in or to give up. Garulf needed help, help that_ I_ could _give!_ We battled against each other for another moment, before I looked directly into his wide eyes and willed him to listen to me. My heart hammered in my chest, loud and unsteady, but I refused to back off and let this poor animal remained scared and alone.

Like I used to be…

Slowly, ever so slowly, Garulf listened to the commands I sent through motion and silent hand gestures. I did not speak for fear that I would spook him again, too worried for the safety of his charges to care about what happened to _me._ I ignored the various scratches on my arms and the burn of the rope reins on my already calloused palms. Finally, Garulf calmed enough that I could release his reins, and I permitted him to step back – with his large head ducked against the summery winds, Garulf nuzzled the faces of his charges, who moaned softly in confusion.

"Mama," Freda murmured, calling out for her mother in her state of unconsciousness, a small keen in her voice when her cries went unanswered. No one said anything. Not Papa, Mama, Ѐothain…

Where was everyone?

A single tear slipped down her face, followed by the sound of pitiful whimpers, and then all went quiet because Ѐothain automatically reached for his crying sister. Like Seth did for me. Thus, Freda did not make another sound, comforted somewhat by the presence of her brother and Garulf, who continued to protectively stand guard at her side. Safe; Freda was safe…

Disgruntled murmurings, all in languages that I could not understand, left the Istari. "I take it, by your expression, that this particular event should not have occurred," Gandalf quietly drawled, his voice unnaturally stern, and raised his right eyebrow at me in disapproval.

Flushing at the subtle reprimand, I busied myself with lifting the two children from the ground, finding that I could lift the pair when mixing a small amount of magic with what little muscle I boasted. The magical currents shifted in me and made their weight lighter, almost nonexistent, and I lifted the children back to Garulf, who continued to hold his charges with stubborn pride and strength. I quickly vaulted into the saddle, resting behind the pair, ignoring his question – which I deemed, uh, _rhetorical _– and urged the monstrous horse into a trot. Irritated, Gandalf whistled for Shadowfax, easily climbed atop the beautiful creature, and followed in our wake.

"**You, **Samantha," Gandalf declared, lifting his right hand to point the Staff of Power at me in what could only be accusation, "must learn to take responsibility for the chaos that follows in your wake, created because of poorly made decisions, with little thought devoted to the consequence of change."

Numbly, I turned to face the Istari that wished to mentor me, a curious lack of emotion in my eyes. I laughed bitterly at his little assessment and darkly responded, "You think I've just been runnin' 'round with my neck 'n head separated and doin' whatever the fuck I wanted? _Ha!_"

Gandalf did not answer my question, but I could hear Oromë flitting around in my mind like two thousand hummingbirds, his voice flickering in and out of reception. He stepped closer to me, a palm hovering atop the blue runes on my skin, and frowned. _The Istari is out of line. You have your orders, Child. Follow them and all will be well._

My accent continued to roar as my rage exploded. Feeling justified because of his sentiments, I snarled, "Oromë said that I needed to learn to love people, Gandalf, and I did just what the Rat Bastard asked o' me! Ne'er questioned it because the Valar insisted that I could help 'n save everyone if I only tried…"

"You have changed much in yourself and in Middle Earth, Child of Manwë, risking the fate of this world for selfish reasons, not in the name of the Valar," Gandalf scolded, his frown caught somewhere between annoyed and disappointed, to which Oromë scowled in disagreement. "Boromir, while a good Man, could have died without consequence, as could have Seth."

_Do not listen to him, Samantha, _Oromë stubbornly wrapped his hands around mine, tightening his hold until I could not breathe, and declared, _While I might have once said that not everyone could and should be saved, I rescind these words now. You have a good heart, Child, and will succeed if it remains true. Save who you will._

Heart in my throat, the guilt from his words assuaged somewhat by the warm pride that I could feel from Oromë, I closed both blue eyes and whispered, "Honestly, I tried to help, but…" My magic then stuttered painfully, and the magical sleep that claimed Ѐothain and Freda fell apart, the children slowly waking again.

_See? I'm nobody's hero…_

He shoved the Staff of Power into my palms when I began to sweat from the strain of continuing my magical currents, which previously whirled around Ѐothain and Freda in the familiar shapes of musical notes. Subdued by this appearance of magic, Gandalf scratched Shadowfax behind his ears and sighed, "Use it to ease the strain of spellcasting, Samantha."

Blinking, I gently brushed scarred knuckles against the white thorn cage, my eyes slowly drawn to the second crystal that seemed to orbit around the first, like the moon. "Why does everybody hate me?" I tiredly asked, lost in self pity that I should have ignored - because it wasn't true. I hugged the Staff in my arms and pressed it into knees, letting it bite the tender skin as punishment for these thoughts. Cast another spell, lulling the children back to sleep. Frowned.

"Because you should not have been born," Gandalf finally responded, his face blank, and pulled his fingers through the tangled white mane of his equestrian friend, Shadowfax. A sigh whistled through his hidden lips, out from the depths of his beard, and into the air.

_You should not have been born. You are weak, stupid, ugly. Lesser Mortal! You must __**DIE!**_

"But Oromë said that I wasn't meant to die!" I protested, taken aback by his blunt words but unwilling to let his harsh statement slide without defending myself. First Oromë, then Death, and finally Gandalf claimed that I did not amount to anything! Who next?

…_**Aragorn?**_

_No, I… _My eyes closed, I shuddered and breathed in the familiar smells of horse, leather, and sweat. _I…_

Arms wrapped around mine, Oromë whispered: _Do not take his words to heart, Child. He only believes you weak of heart and questions your allegiance to the Fellowship. Prove him __**wrong.**__ Show him the unwavering strength and loyalty of the Heir of Manwë! _

"True, I suppose, and yet your mother was not meant to live in your world," He trailed off, his words slow and halting, showing just how little the Istari wished to speak of the matter. And Gandalf sighed, "Neither were you."

_What…?_

When I could only stare stupidly at him and frown in confusion, Gandalf wearily asked, "Surely the Valar mentioned this bit of her past? Of yours…?"

"Not really, but Oromë said…" My heart stopped momentarily as a memory made its return, the meaning of his next words finally sinking in – _You were meant to live amongst the mortal Men of another world. A better world. _ "…oh."

The Istari looked rather ill, seemingly bothered that I would be dropped here to defend his world without first being given the necessary information to point me in the right direction, and quietly explained, "Your mother is what the Men refer to as the child of Elf and Witch: The Walker."

"What does that mean?" I quietly asked, letting that information process and asking the question that most bothered me. If Mom was something else, something other than human, then what the fuck could Seth and I be? Hobbits? Trolls? ...Lesser Mortals…?

Lowering his eyes in consideration, taking the pain in my eyes as a serious indicator of how confused and worried I seemed to be, Gandalf slowly inhaled through his nose and then finished his tale –

"A Walker, you will find, is someone of considerable Power that may walk between worlds. She stopped in Earth only because of her love for her husband, the Man who sired her children, Seth and Samantha. Eve returned here, to Middle Earth, upon the night of her death." _**Pause.**_ "She lives in Lothlórien now."

"My mother lives in Lothlórien, where I used to be at the start of this whole mess, and didn't bother to talk to me?" I asked numbly, almost robotically, and then began to laugh hysterically at this unexpected bit of nasty news. "Why'm I_ not_ surprised? My Daddy was a right bastard, and Mom must've been a real piece of work to get hitched to him, too!"

"Lady Galadriel did not think it wise to speak of her presence," Gandalf finally said in response, glanced at me, and shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of the dark glare I steadily burned into his ancient face. "She feared that you would not travel with the Fellowship or aid them in their endeavors if tempted to stay behind and get to know your mother."

"She doesn't know me very well, then," I declared, almost rudely, and glared into the distance as my accent ripped through his ears and mine. "I still would've gone with 'em, at least 'til I found Seth, anyway…"

Repeating my words, I winced at how uncultured, how fucking selfish I sounded. I scowled in self disgust, slowly correcting myself. "My Twin, I needed him, and I would have picked him over my mom any day of the week, just like I would pick –" But I stopped myself before speaking his name.

The Istari remained quiet for a minute, warily mulling over my answer, and smiled faintly in acceptance. Apparently, Gandalf did not originally know how to take my questionable attitude and short temper. He was uncertain if I would help the Fellowship or not. My unspoken answer seemed to offer him the proof that my spoken words could not, though – loyalties were proven in mere seconds. _I needed Seth, I wanted to see my older brother something awful because we are moon, sun, and blood. In the end, however, I would have picked Aragorn. Always…_

Upon noticing the faraway expression in my eyes and taking the moment to delve deeper into my mind, Gandalf smirked crookedly in amusement. "Ah, Legolas was correct in his assessment, then!" He gently tossed his head back and forth, laughing at me. "You really do love him."

_Damn Elf! _I visibly fumed, furious with my so-called _friend,_ and attempted to ignore the fire that burned along my nose and cheeks. _Shoulda called him "Prince Loose Lips," the no good, motherfucking gossip! _Huffed in annoyance. _Grrr…!_

Gandalf remained quiet, apparently satisfied with the mischief his words caused, and stared into the distance, a pensive expression glued to weathered skin. I was quiet, too, lost in the thoughts of Ѐothain and Freda, which brought to mind thoughts of Merry and Pippin, and Frodo and Sam. There were so many people that I worried about who'd wandered off, out of sight, far from the rest of the Fellowship. The only _good_ thing, I supposed, would be that everyone was in pairs, with friends and family that could keep them safe. Like Gandalf and I at the moment. We remained silent, until –

"Sorry about messin' stuff up," I mumbled, blushing from the embarrassment of having to admit to my mistakes, and glanced at him through short black eyelashes. My blonde hair dropped into my eyes, and I smiled shakily at the Istari. _Please forgive me?_

"Demons, you will find, often take the forms of what we most fear in life," Gandalf mysteriously returned, striking fear and uncertainly into my mind, heart, and soul. While I wanted to laugh, I feared that taking his words lightly would be disastrous. So I stared at him blankly, uncertain what that bit of advice was meant to accomplish, and dryly quipped, "Thanks, Dumbledore!"

My response was strange, and I didn't think that Gandalf would understand the reference or just how funny I found it to be. Nevertheless, Gandalf smirked at me in amusement, his lips twisted into a small but noticeable smirk. And I immediately wondered if Gandalf the White, the Istari, might know more about other worlds than I thought. Middle Earth existed when I thought of it as only fantasy, something thought of by a writer, so maybe Harry Potter's world could exist, too. If so, could Gandalf have visited there? Could Gandalf be another Walker…?

_Nah, _I thought in amusement. _He just __**needs**__ one. _

Later that evening, however, I wanted to scream and beat myself senseless for brushing his words off. Because everywhere I turned, I could hear the word, especially from Seth: "Jesus! Any of ya'll notice the little demons tearing through da stew like there's no tomorrow? Fuckin' scary…"

Annoyed with these derogatory descriptions, Gimli slammed his tankard of ale to the table and sloshed its golden contents out, glaring at him with distaste. He said nothing, though, to rebuke the Rider. Unlike the situation I found myself in with the Fellowship, Seth did not find himself disliked by others. No one questioned his open, strange, and oftentimes _rude_ views because of his gender. He was a Man.

Everyone loved Seth.

I loved him, too, but I hated it when Seth acted like such an ass…

"Seth," I quietly said, turning to stare at him with faint reproach burning in my eyes, my mouth curling downward in frustration, "You know exactly how it is to be like these children, to feel hungry and cold and scared. We were _exactly _like these children not _four years ago._"

From her spot beside her Uncle, Eowyn glanced to my older brother, noting his bitter expression with wariness, and then turned to me. Questions burned in her eyes, questions that I did not want to answer, and the Shield Maiden asked, "Why will Lord Seth not speak of his childhood? Or yours? What are you and Lord Seth hiding from friends, Sammy?"

Even the Fellowship perked upward in anticipation of hearing my response.

_Great…_

"My mother died in childbirth, Eowyn," I slowly explained, tone of voice blank when I recalled I'd had almost the same conversation with Aragorn all those months ago. My lips pursed, and I refused to speak again, until I decided that I owed everybody the truth: "Daddy didn't really appreciate his children taking his beloved wife from him, though it wasn't the wish of his children to be motherless, or starved and beaten by their father – day in, day out."

As expected, Eowyn looked stricken by this ill description of childhood, but I did not pay any more attention to the Shield Maiden or the rest of the Fellowship; instead, I turned to stare down at the small girl that curled herself into my side. Freda was so small, underfed and malnourished because of the lack of good provisions. The War was slowly, painfully taking its toll amongst the people of Middle Earth, and children everywhere suffered the penalties of feeding their soldiers – fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins – that marched off to war, never to return.

Like Théodred.

Like Seth.

Like me…

"Feeling better, Freda?" I quietly asked, speaking softly to avoid frightening the skittish girl that continued to cling to either Eowyn or me, even though it had been two hours since Gandalf and I went to speak with King Théoden. Found the two children falling from their monstrous horse. Skin and bones. Terrified.

_Within Earth and Middle Earth, _Oromë murmured, his voice dark with meaning, the smallest of hints present in his omnipotent words, _I present to you a mirror, the two sides to the same coin. Day and night. Dawn and dusk. Good and evil. Angels and demons._

My eyes widened almost perceptively. _But that would definitely mean…_

**There is a connection between Earth and Middle Earth.**

I startled at the sound of this new voice. _Who are **you?**_

**...I am called ****Manwë.**

_Holy shit...!_

"Yes, Milady," Freda responded politely, her green eyes and smile strangely tight for her age of only eight. Emeralds slowly blinked at me, a pained and frightened light gleaming deliriously in their depths, but Freda remained silent. She did not speak. She did not cry. She was an empty shell…

Her older brother, Ѐothain, nudged his sister in her side and then pushed his bowl of stew toward her, knowing that her stomach still grumbled with hunger. My frown continued to darken at this behavior; in fact, I remembered it well because Seth would always do that for me. Completely different circumstances, true, but I hated the fact that these children couldn't eat when hungry.

Annoyed with the lack of attention from the others in the hall, who all remained too concerned about the upcoming battles to mind the children, I pushed the bowl of mutton stew, two rolls, and the jug of cider that I'd asked for toward the boy. Ѐothain, I noticed, would be painfully small for his age – in my world _and_ in his world. At twelve, Ѐothain should be much taller than his five feet, with lanky shoulders that had started to broaden and fill with muscles. He should be lively. Not skinny, deathly pale, and afraid of his own motherfucking shadow!

"Here, Ѐothain," I kindly said and insistently shoved the food closer to the small boy and his little sister, seeing in the pair two children that only wanted to be loved. In Ѐothain and Freda, I recognized Seth and myself. Two sides of the same coin.

Warily, Ѐothain grabbed the warm soup and bread, the lunch served by the kitchens, and divided it – unequally, I grimly realized – between his sister and himself. Most of the stew and both of the rolls found their way into her hands, whereas Ѐothain busied himself with finding the meat hidden in his soup. So, I calmly handed him another roll and stubbornly glared at the preteen until Ѐothain began to munch at the bread, first halfheartedly and then ravenously. I smiled. What I did not notice, however, was that these actions gained small smiles from Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas. Gimli smirked widely at Aragorn and mouthed – _Mother o' your children, Lad. _The Ranger flushed.

"This is only the first taste of what will become the future of Edoras, of Middle Earth, if nothing is done," Gandalf stubbornly pointed out to the King of Rohan, his hand uplifted and pointing toward Ѐothain, Freda, Seth, and myself. "Distract him from your women and children." He stared into his eyes, as if compelling him to listen, and squeezed his hand. "Lead him away."

Turning to face Seth, King Théoden asked, "What of this Earth that you and Lady Sammy spent the first two decades of life?" A desperate plea entered his voice, brought out be the need to protect his niece, his nephew, and his people. "Would I have their power and strength, I –"

All of that sounded much too familiar for the rest of the Fellowship, and Boromir shifted guiltily in his seat, his previously thoughtful expression pained. His mind clearly stalled, trained to the thoughts of his old desires for the Ring. _I wish…_

"You would not want it," I boldly interrupted, though I should not have, as a woman, stepped through the boundaries surrounding Man and War. Women were not permitted to speak of War, least of all with Men. We weren't smart enough. _As if…!_

"Why, might I ask, not?" Théoden asked, quietly, his voice deceptively calm but eyes colder than ice.

"Because Seth and I have been sent here not only to help Middle Earth, but to save our own world, too," I explained roughly, desperate for him to understand why Seth and I could not share the fatal secrets of Earth. "We are slowly killing ourselves, and the planet, with such technology. Too many people, saved by advanced medicine, have become _greedy_ and _cruel._" My voice cracked. "I've_** seen**_ what happens to the people that step forward to take part in our wars."

I inhaled shakily but remained silent when King Théoden scowled at me, refusing to speak out in my passion and suddenly ruin all that Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir were working and hoping for – the alliance between Edoras and Gondor. Victory would be guaranteed if the two powerful countries were to stand together against Sauron. We would all fall apart, crashing and burning to the ground, if neither agreed that to the alliance. Fire and brimstone would explode. Middle Earth would become ash.

_My home…_

"We're all blown to smithereens by machines that spit fire, metal, 'n much more. So many people have died protectin' nothin'…" Seth trailed off, before gently crossing his arms over my shoulders, my chest, and holding tightly to me, a sad cadence to his voice. "…and losin' everythin'." He slowly began to shake his head. "It ain't worth it, King Théoden."

"Death is everywhere," I finally sighed, thinking back to the first time that I met the red eyed creature, in Earth. It clicked into place, then; Death…was…everywhere? Here _and_ in Middle Earth! That meant…!

**So I present to you, my child, Heir of Manwë, a connection to the Witch King, in the form of Death.**

Confused, I glanced halfheartedly at the ceiling, expecting no answer. _How is that supposed to help us save the world, Manwë?_

**You are one half of the whole**…

Seth smiled down at me.

…**as is Death.**

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Evil, I know, but I couldn't help it. I'm willing to bet that someone understands what I'm going to do and could make **a guess** about how this **story will be changing soon.** It will be **derailing from the plot line** in many ways soon enough, but rest easy - it will end well enough! **I love happy endings! ;)**

**At 378 reviews, I will post the next chapter,** which has the start of the** lemon with Aragorn and Sammy.** I will post it **next weekend,** too, if you all want to **answer my questions:**

1) **_What do you want out of this lemon? Sweet? Sexy? Passionate? What?_ **

2) **_Do you all know why their mother is what she is, though it is somewhat clichéd? Hint: She died twenty one years ago! It was mentioned in Chapter 15 and has to do with Legolas! _**

Chapter 30 is half done. All I need are your answers! :D

Thanks, Peeps~!


	31. Chapter 30: Sunset

~Chapter Thirty~

Sunset

_The Sky Is Red Tonight.  
>We're On The Edge Tonight.<br>No Shooting Star To Guide Us._

_Eye For An Eye,  
>Why Tear Each Other Apart?<br>Please Tell Me Why…_

_I Look At Us Now;  
>We Only Got Ourselves To Blame.<br>It's Such A Shame._

_~Only Teardrops, _by Emmelie de Forest

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><em>"Death is everywhere," I finally sighed, thinking back to the first time that I met the red eyed creature, in Earth. It clicked into place, then; Death…was…everywhere? Here and in Middle Earth! That meant…!<em>

_**So I present to you, my child, Heir of Manwë, a connection to the Witch King, in the form of Death.**_

_Confused, I glanced halfheartedly at the ceiling, expecting no answer. How is that supposed to help us save the world, Manwë?_

_**You are one half of the whole**…_

_Seth smiled down at me._

_…**as is Death.**_

* * *

><p>Deep inside, within the place of memories, of dreams, and of fears, Manwë and Oromë continued to whisper to me, a symphony of strong and powerful words singing in my mind. I breathed in. Forced air into lungs that suddenly seemed too small to work properly, and I moved to lean heavily against the table, bracing elbows, arms, and hands flat against its warm wooden surface. My heart raced, and I could feel the pounding of the pulse in my eyeballs, making it difficult to keep my eyes open and focused. Another shaky breath escaped from within me. Cried softly.<p>

"Regardless, I will _not_ bring further death to _my people!_" King Théoden vehemently cried. His shoulders were set and his tan face drawn with lines of fear, worry, and exhaustion. Decades of youth returned to his features, but Evil still clung to him like a second skin. And I could smell him. I could smell…

…_Death._

"Holy shit, I could **kill** him," I whispered the moment that this surprising bit of information finally sank in. Staggered, feeling like I would float away without somebody to hold, I reached out for Seth, steadying myself. "He…I…oh, _God_…"

From his seat beside the King, Gandalf turned his ancient eyes to meet mine, sending perhaps the softest thought by far into my mind in comparison to the dark bass of Oromë and the rich timbre of Manwë. And I suddenly realized why Gandalf feared letting me run wild. Why I could be seen as vicious and fearsome, infinitely troubling to the Powers That Be. My Magic was so _strong,_ based only upon inconsistent emotions, and fueled entirely by the Moral Compass beating within my ever changing heart. Even **I **did not know what I would do sometimes! Everything about me was wild. Unpredictable.

Together, Gandalf, Oromë, and Manwë admitted their fear, the fear that I would leave the path less traveled, the path of heroes, in favor of taking the easy way out and becoming something nefarious. All three whispered: _You, Child, have been gifted – and cursed – by the Strings of Fate. Our Fate is yours to decide. We are yours. You are ours. Choose wisely, Child._

"Little one…!"

Voices awakened the silence inside of me. Distantly, I could hear Seth and Boromir in my ears, whispering that I needed to rise, but the person that seemed loudest, and closest – that would be Aragorn. When I returned from the shadows of the Halls of Mandos, where I apparently drifted off to during that last conversation, I discovered that I'd collapsed right into open arms. Lost control of everything when attacked with the combined weight of their voices. Fainted like a stereotypical Damsel in Distress!

Dammit…

"Are you well, little one?" Aragorn worriedly asked, his voice soft and velvety, exactly like I remembered it to be. A warm palm gently brushed the hair from my eyes and shifted to touch slender fingers to my clammy forehead, checking for fever. Silver flashed to sapphire eyes.

Blinking, I sheepishly smiled at him and moved to sit up. His lips pulled into an unhappy frown, taking note that I flinched, carefully rolling my small shoulders back and forth to ease the twinge of pain. A quick inventory revealed that I would live. Nothing seemed to be permanently hurt, other than what little dignity I still had claim to, anyway. My back hurt, having taken the brunt of the fall, but above all else, I think that I just really wanted to melt into the floor – and die of embarrassment!

Eyes soft, Aragorn gently brushed his hands against my pale cheeks and through the long hair that seemed to fascinate him so much. I blushed at his open concern, somewhat taken aback by his willingness to touch me, and hurriedly glanced off to the side; first, into the knowing gray eyes of Eowyn, and then, in the devious green gaze of Seth. My Twin curled his arms over a muscular chest, pointedly lifted his left eyebrow, and smirked at me, amused. To which I scowled.

His amusement, however, quickly faded. When Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli stepped closer, seeking to see, to talk, and to touch what the Rider clearly believed to be _his,_ Seth snarled quietly and moved to block the three interlopers. My Twin bared his teeth, his overprotective streak rearing its fierce head, and snapped, "Back off, Fellowshits!"

My Guardian cheerfully ignored him which, I would admit, made me quite mad. "You should probably rest, little one," Boromir piped from behind the lanky Ranger, his gray eyes narrowed in – _surprise, surprise_ – concern. He reached out to touch the small hand that I instinctively stretched out toward him, almost taking the pale limb in his long, tanned fingers, and –

"**My** Twin," Seth muttered, his voice, his _eyes,_ so sad and lost. Something inside of his heart seemed to pulse and ache in time to the heavy heartbeat in his chest. Nauseous pain, like the feeling experienced before jumping from great heights, entered mine. It all rushed back.

_I __**hate **__you._

_Do not speak to me!_

_I do not wish to hear your voice._

_YOU ARE A LESSER MORTAL! _

Remembering then all of the pain and fear from the last month, all of it because of the blasted Fellowship, I recoiled from Boromir, taking my open palm and curling it into a small fist. I used that weapon – my only constant, really – and shoved it against the shoulders and chest that still kept me in place. Aragorn immediately released his hold, from shock and nothing else. Let his arms and hands fall limply to his sides. Using the rush of adrenaline that continued fueling my movements, I swiftly jumped back and scrambled into a standing position, breathing loud (_too __**loud**_) in my ears.

_Pant, pant, pant…_

"Do…not…**touch**…me," I hoarsely whispered to the pair, suddenly _furious_ because I could feel that pain, that horrible feeling of anxiety racing in my ears and limbs and chest, like the beating of two hearts instead of one.

My Guardian whirled around to face Seth. Noticing the smug smirk plastered to his thin lips, Boromir permitted his face to twist into a snarl of his own. He stomped forward and pointed his gloved hand at my older brother. Demanded, "What have you said and done to corrupt her, Rider?"

Blankly, Seth stared at him, opened his mouth to respond with nasty comments and accusations of his own, when –

"Fuck you," I whispered the curse, my voice dangerously soft, and pained, and filled to the brim with the old hatred that I'd buried deep inside of me. Hidden from the Fellowship because I thought that I could _trust them._ Ha! My mistake! Won't happen again!

Everybody remained silent, entirely shocked that I could speak such words, and with such hatred, too. We, the Fellowship, went through countless trials and tribulations together, with far worse suddenly looming in the future. So, I could not help but feel betrayed. Hurt. It **hurt,** but I'd been hurt by people before, and I learned not to trust anybody but Seth. Worse yet, Aragorn and Boromir proved Daddy right; I should not trust **anybody.** Did I listen to his warnings, though? Of _course_ not! Believing that I could trust the Men, the Elf, and the Dwarf, I put myself out there, at their mercy. What happened when I did?

My trust was splintered.

My faith was shattered.

My heart was…

**Broken.**

Blue eyes slowly darkened to the color of the night sky, painted with fury and pain. "Are you insane? You think that _Seth_ is to blame for all of the shit you've made me go through?" I bitterly laughed in their drawn faces, my arms crossed to keep hold of the splintered pieces of the broken heart inside of me.

_Do not give these assholes the satisfaction of falling apart in front of them, Sammy. _I stubbornly whispered the mantra to myself; face hard, heart made of stone. _Don't fall for it! Don't fall…_

"Samantha, I…" Boromir started, his outstretched hand dropping to his side and desperation entering his wide eyes. He silently pleaded with me, an expression of guilt and regret flashing up and down his face. _Don't fall for it. _But I ignored him.

Quietly, Legolas approached and reached his hand out to my shoulder, letting it softly rest there, light as a small butterfly, when I did not immediately jerk away. He stared down at me, smiled, and then squeezed the limb beneath his grasp. "I am pleased that I made the right decision in letting him take you –" Eyes softened. "– pleased that you are safe and happy with Seth."

Eyes wide, heart in his throat, Aragorn whirled around to glare at his friend. He gritted his teeth, his heartbroken words shoving between the white walls like bulldozers, and roughly demanded, "You let another Man take her from _me_…" Realized what crossed his lips and swiftly backpedaled. "…from us?"

My heart skipped two beats, making it hard to keep from running to him, from apologizing for leaving him. I shut my eyes, ears, and heart to it all in the attempt to block it all out. To keep his words from hurting hurt me. Again!

_Don't fall, Sammy…_

Ancient blue eyes, once warm, chilled with reproach and briefly considered him. "Her Twin has always been there for her, always been there to help her back to her feet, Aragorn," Legolas sternly explained to the Man, but without once raising his voice.

"Why should Samantha be returned to the Man that _left_ her?" Aragorn stubbornly argued, the lines in his forehead deepening with the passing of each word from his lips. A shadow crossed his face, but at what thought, I did not yet know. Only later would Aragorn mention to me a strong fear of letting me out of his sights. Even if Seth were near me.

"Why should Samantha be left in _your_ care?" The Elf swiftly returned, his slender arms crossed and his equally slender eyebrows lifted in carefully crafted consideration. All in all, Legolas appeared to be provoking Aragorn for some reason or another. _Uh-oh…_

Fire erupted, burning brightly within silver eyes. "Because I care about her, and I lo…!" The Ranger suddenly clenched his teeth and turned, refusing to continue his heated declaration. He stormed off to continue talking at length with King Théoden, Boromir at his heels, and did not look back. Not once.

My heart cracked further, splintering right down the middle, and I whimpered faintly, wanting him near me now. Many times I'd questioned it, this love that I nurtured for Aragorn, but I never _once_ considered that it might eventually be returned. To have Aragorn give me such strong hope – _Because I care about her _– hurt beyond comprehension. To have Aragorn rip it away in the next moment, though? It was too much!

_Don't fall in love…_

A large hand roughly squeezed mine, thusly pulling me out of these depressing thoughts, further from the realization that I would not ever really be good enough for the future King of Gondor. "Glad to have you well and back with us," Gimli gruffly stated, the stern set of his voice offset by the bright twinkling of his warm eyes.

"Thanks, Gimli," I thickly said, tears still present in my eyes and voice, but this time because I appreciated the kind words spoken by one of the best friends somebody could possibly have in their lifetime. The Dwarf, though strong and old fashioned, remained kind. "It means so very much to hear that from you."

"No." Brown eyes searched through mine like fish in the deep blue sea. "It really should not, Lass," Gimli quietly said, confusing me so very much with his confession, and then roughly explained, "Ya should _expect_ it and hear it from us more _often._"

The Dwarf quickly pushed his form into mine in a strong hug, kissed the rune on my clammy forehead, and then walked off to join the others. I blinked at his departing figure and dumbly mused: _Huh?_

With that said and done, only Legolas and I remained standing there beside Seth, prompting the Elf to turn and face him, eyes and smile uncommonly warm. "My thanks, Lord Seth, for caring for your – _our _– treasured little one," Legolas politely said and bowed to the Warrior.

Blinking in surprise, Seth smiled nervously at the ethereal creature and drawled, "No problem, Man – I mean, uh, Elf!" He blushed lightly in embarrassment at how rough and dull witted his response sounded in comparison to the cultured words of the Prince of the Woodland Realms.

_You 'n me, too, Seth, _I dryly thought, hands reaching out to twine around his thumbs, which nervously plucked at the belt around his armored waist. My familiar touch stilled his nervous movements, and Seth smiled down at me, nose scrunched in that funny way. Made me smile, too.

The Elf Prince smirked crookedly at his expense, amused with his stuttering, and then angled his head to observe my own anxious twitching. "Be at peace with the choices you've made, Child," Legolas mysteriously intoned, sounding for all the world like Oromë. _Creepy…_

"Thanks, Legolas," I finally responded and hesitantly reached out to tug at the sleeve of his olive green vest to gain his attention, before desperately searching his eyes to determine if the Elf _really _understand what I meant – "Thanks for everything!"

Sensing that I referred to more than just these words, but also of his apologies, of his trust, of his understanding in Fangorn Forest, the Elf smiled tenderly. "Of course, Samantha," Legolas said, before laughing at something in his thoughts, eyes mysteriously wet. "You, I believe, are much like her, and perhaps that is why I fight with you so…"

"Who are you speaking about?" I curiously asked him, face scrunched at the thoughts provoked by his words. Honestly, I wondered why Legolas and I fought so much, and I would greatly appreciate a reason, an answer. Something! Anything!

"My half sister –" He paused, shaking his head at my surprise, beautiful white blonde hair falling down his shoulders and into his blue eyes, and finished, "Never you mind, Child."

Truthfully, I did not have time to worry about it, either. Everyone moved to be seated by King Théoden, who left his golden throne in favor of pacing the ornately decorated floors. His thick, leather boots slammed against the stones, belying his calm expression, which continued to shift and deteriorate with every passing second – from calm, to fear, and then to outright panic. A kaleidoscope. I could clearly read it all from within the swirling depths of his icy blue eyes.

Everyone discussed the War. Conversation followed his train of thought, his swiftly fluctuating emotions, shifting from the thought of attack to a preference for retreat. Gondor was mentioned, but nothing much could be said about the possibility of their aid. The Men, particularly Aragorn and Boromir, ignored the topic for a moment, planning to return to it when King Théoden calmed. No good could really come of making hasty judgments and decisions. Ever.

Meanwhile, Seth and I stared at each other, worn out and crashing from the emotional high of the rough fistfight and the exorcism. Our argument with Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas did nothing to improve matters, either. It seemed, however strange it might be, that Gimli would be the only person with the sense to keep his mouth shut! Yeah, I know. The **Dwarf** turned out to be the voice of reason? Weird!

"Goodnight, Ѐothain and Freda," I softly whispered the words into the silent night air, hearing only softly murmured replies in response. My lips curved into a small smile at the sight of the brother and sister curled around each other for warmth. My heart ached, however, with the desire for – of all things – children of my _**own.**_

_Huh. Must be that maternal streak Seth claims I have and always yammers on 'n on about…_

After escorting the children to their bedrooms and tucking them in, I returned to the meeting between King Théoden and the Fellowship. Strangely enough, Seth remained seated while I was gone, and I found him still perched along the edge of the largest table, which had been upturned during the fight. I slowly climbed into the wooden seat beside him, calmly letting Seth guide me up, a calloused hand in mine. Within the other hand, I carried the Staff of Power, keeping it very close.

Why? Because Gandalf insisted that I _needed _to hold it. The Istari believed that I needed that assistance currently because I could not control the Power that the Valar gifted to me. A Magical Being, Gandalf explained earlier this evening, even one gifted with magic from the Valar, would need somebody to help them learn to control it. My lack of control, the reason why I could not master my golden fire and healing skills, could be blamed entirely on my inexperience and the lack of wand, tome, or staff. He would, however, retrieve it soon and promised to fashion me my own soon enough. When I received it, I would become his apprentice – the Blue Wizard.

My Twin, Seth, would become the second Blue Wizard: the Warrior. He, like myself, needed training in his Powers. However, Seth did not carry near as much magic and, therefore, did not require as much training from the Istari. His expertise rested in the art of warfare. Go figure…! He was gifted by the Valar with the skills of swiftly, almost effortlessly, mastering his weapons and using his charm to persuade others into seeing things from his perspective. A born politician, Seth!

"You _must_ fight, Théoden," Gandalf suddenly declared from beside the King of Rohan. "You will not win this war unless it is fought with Man, Elf, and Dwarf – with the sword, the bow, and the axe." His omniscient stare turned to Seth 'n me. "With Wizards and with Magic…"

Yeah. Apparently, Gandalf could not remember the Blue Wizards in _The Hobbit_ because, well, neither lived; it had been ages since either Blue Wizard appeared within Middle Earth. Wishing to find the explanation for such ineptness – _his words, not mine_ – Gandalf explored and quickly discovered the two to be deceased. Whoops! He mentioned this to me in passing, as a sort of musing, while speaking to me of what would happen in the coming months…

_War._

A tear slipped down my nose, into the dress that I donned earlier at Eowyn's insistence, and I hiccupped softly. Seth turned to stare at me with his patented expression of brotherly worry and frustration, but I handed him the Staff of Power and waved him off, letting myself slide down from the upturned bench and slowly drifting to the table at the back of the room. My hands, though shaking with emotion, were steady enough to pour a small glass of wine, which I tentatively sipped at it. It tasted like – my nose wrinkled – hot grape juice. _No wonder I don't usually drink__…_

"Samantha," Aragorn sighed, his voice soft with concern and something else, something that I could not discern. A hand gently moved to cup my waist, holding it tightly when I jumped in surprise of his sudden presence; the other gently pried the glass from my palms. "We need to speak, little one."

Stubbornly, I attempted to pull back, to put some much needed distance between us and still keep the wine glass, too. But Aragorn refused to let me move, making certain that his hands remained firmly at my waist and around the stem of the glass. Silver clashed with sapphire eyes, a sudden lightning flashed in their depths, and I noted, with amazement, that Aragorn was pressing much closer to me. I learned forward, almost instinctively, to reach him. To kiss him. His lips brushed against mine. And I pulled back.

"No," I said, softly, and placed both hands against his chest, keeping him at bay with the gentle pressure. "We need to talk first, like you've mentioned, and I do not think that this kind of thing needs to be discussed in front of the people in this room."

Silver eyes were slow to lift from the parted lips through which I talked, but Aragorn finally managed to return his attention to my eyes. The Ranger reached out with his hand, brushing his knuckles against my cheek, and heatedly promised, "Later."

Blushing at the heat in that one word, I inhaled quickly, trembling as gentle fingers became more possessive and tangled themselves in my golden hair. I managed to bite back the smile at the familiar feeling of Aragorn tugging my ponytail with gentle hands, but only just, and firmly murmured, "Good."

King Théoden continued to speak of his options, and the Fellowship, oblivious to what Aragorn and I were speaking of and doing in the back of the room, continued to listen. Seth, however, was glaring daggers at the Ranger, who only blinked, unaffected, and smirked widely at him. My Twin twitched, his hand drifting to his sheathed sword, but I glowered darkly at both of them. Our Triangle of Terror halted when King Théoden mentioned leaving Edoras. _What…?_

Aragorn cocked his head to the side in thought, briefly considering his options, before I tugged insistently at his hand and gestured to myself. He frowned in confusion, not following what I wanted him to understand, until I pointed to my purity ring. A smile crossed his lips, eyes on mine, and Aragorn asked, "What of Lord Eomer and his Riders, who ride north even as we speak?"

"Yeah," Seth called out, his voice exuberant, and lifted his fist to the ceiling in a strangely** loud **motion of excitement. A tremor running down his spine, hair practically lifting under the insistence of his adrenaline, Seth declared, "We're all really loyal to ya!"

"You may yet be here, in these halls, Lord Seth," Théoden tiredly responded, his weary voice at odds with the picture of excitement that Seth painted not fifteen feet from his pacing form, "but Lord Eomer and the rest will be three hundred leagues from here, if not _farther,_ and with not enough time to return to fight."

"So yer just goin' to give up," Seth incredulously stated, standing straight and rushing forward to glare at his King. He gently pushed Eowyn to the side when the distraught Woman ran up to stand in between her love interest and her Uncle. "Yer gonna throw in the towel and give in 'cause _Lord Eomer_ ain't _here?_" Scowl. "That's **bullshit!**"

Sighing, I reached out to touch him on the shoulder in the hopes of calming his temper, which reared its fearsome head at the worst times. I, too, was sent stumbling back, but with much more strength than what Seth aimed at Eowyn just seconds ago. Jaw loose, I stared at him, surprised that Seth would think to shove me away. He and I'd always stuck together, through thick and thin, good and bad. We were always together. The Sun and the Moon.

Two sides of the same coin.

_I wish…_

"Knock it off, Sammy," Seth growled through the blazing red of his temper, bending down to stare at me, eyes green and furious. My Twin, unprovoked, shoved at me again. "You might be willin' to lie down and be fucked, but I ain't 'bout to be screwed in the ass."

Infuriated at the insinuation in his words, I finally snapped out of it and shoved him back, thusly sending him stumbling into a nearby pillar, much to his shock. "I can't believe you're gonna spit fire at _me _when it's your own goddamn fault that Eomer had to leave your ass!" I snapped in irritation.

"Sorry for caring about someone _other than you _and trying to push Théodred to safety!" He snarled. His chest arms and legs shoved against mine, backing me up and into another of the surrounding pillars. "At least I didn't manage to fuck the story up to Hell and back, like _you._ Saving Boromir could ruin _everything!_"

Heart aching, I hit him again, and fired, "So what? I wasn't about to let him _die _when I could actually _save _someone! You're just pissed because you couldn't fix that problem with Théodred and –"

**CRASH!**

Roaring, Seth had lunged forward and shoved with all of his might, sending my much smaller form crashing into the pillar behind me. I slowly braced myself, carefully angling both elbows against the tiled floor, and lifted blue eyes, pain glimmering in their depths. My Twin, from his position beside the throne, opened and closed his mouth, repeatedly attempting to say – well, _something._ But Seth and I could only stare at each other. Shocked.

_What just happened…?_

A commotion followed this stray, confused thought. The Fellowship rushed forward, glaring at Seth without restraint, but Aragorn seemed the most furious, his eyes narrowed into thin slits of anger. Nostrils flared in his annoyance and teeth clenched in his fury, Aragorn shoved by the stunned Rider, his hands already reaching out to cup my cheek. His touch, I absently noted, gentled when I flinched back, shrinking into myself. Words were whispered, but I could not really understand his question. Could not think at the moment. Too confused. So confused…

Slowly, Seth opened his mouth, taking in the weight of the situation, and reached out for me. He croaked, "Sammy, I didn't…it was a…an accident…I…"

"Leave me alone, Seth," I tiredly said, refusing to touch the red mark burning my eye and cheek like hot fire. I refused to let him know that it hurt inside **and** outside. Instead, I swatted his hands off and decided to leave him with one really troubling thought –

"You'll listen and leave me alone. If you're really Seth, I mean. After all, I think that was more along the lines of what Daddy would have done, don'tcha agree?"

When I managed to wake from the blind fury that propelled both feet toward the outside, through the cracked doors and into the night air, I slowly glanced around, slowly adjusting to my strange and unfamiliar surroundings. Still, I could recognize bits and pieces of what I noticed – judging by the horses and the hay, for example, I guessed that I'd managed to find the stables. A sigh of relief whispered from between my parted lips, and I slowly inhaled again, savoring the smell of horses and finding comfort in the familiarity. Sweet oats, honey, and hay, smells that made me smile through the tears. God, I **loved **horses!

One whickered from in the dark shadows of the stables, calling out to me, and lifted his nose. A pink tongue flicked out to taste the hay stuck in several strands of golden hair, gently pulling the tasty snack from behind both ears and above my eyes. I laughed at the tickling sensation. My mouth curled in happiness, and I cooed, "Hey, Pretty Boy!"

A Man, who I surmised to be in charge of the upkeep of the stables and the horses within, approached cautiously. He stared at the large creature, completely bewildered, and said, "That one ain't usually kind to the Riders, Milady, let alone strangers." Black eyes slowly moved from my eyes to follow the lines of the glowing runes and marks burned into my skin and forehead.

_Clearly,_ I noted his superstitious expression with wry amusement, _I have bewitched the horse…_

"He's beautiful," I said quietly and instead of messing with him, like I would have not even a year ago, my smile softened with sincerity. "Mister…?"

"Janur, son of Janun, Milady," Janur politely responded, before ducking his head and bowing low at the waist – which, I might add, confused the Hell outta me. Why bow to _me?_ "The horse, though, don't have a name."

"Orion," I immediately answered, softly running my small fingers through his white mane and taking note of the strange strip of white stars that created the crown across an otherwise dark blue canvas. A Blue Roan, I guessed, perhaps a close relative. "His name is Orion."

A brush paused in its journey through the tangled black mane of the American Quarter Horse – or rather, the Middle Earth Quarter Horse – a row over. "Do you ride, Milady?" Janur quietly asked and, somewhat tentatively, passed along another bristled brush to me.

"Yes," I said, feeling hollow, like I'd been forced to have an out-of-body experience. My hands, though already firmly wrapped around the brush, tightened to the point that my circular knuckles whitened. "My Daddy taught to ride right around the time that I started walking…"

"He's yours, then," Janur brightly said, his sandy blonde hair falling into his brown eyes. When I started, positively stunned at his generosity, the Man smiled reassuringly and continued, "I've not seen a mean ol' horse like…_Orion_…take interest in anyone so quickly." His smiled lifted further. "You're obviously Horse Hearted."

"'Horse Hearted,'" I slowly repeated the term, tasting the words and enjoying the rich flavor that it left in my mouth. A satisfied smile crinkled the skin at my eyes, making the bad feelings in my stomach vanish into thin air, and I cheerfully laughed, "You might be right, Janur." We smiled at each other.

"Take care of him, Milady," Janur pleaded lightly, before dropping into another small bow for me.

Upon standing, however, Janur found that I'd offered him my open palm, like Man would do for his equal. He stared at the proffered limb, taken by surprise, and then warmly grasped it in his, shaking the hand with fervor. We parted with little else said, other than my agreement to do so, and I listened to him walk back into the stables. I leaned against the Blue Roan – _Orion _– and curled into his gently rolling sides. Burrowed into his white mane, smelled the sweet scent of flowers and hay buried into his coat, and sighed happily.

_I wish…_

"Little one," Aragorn called out, lifting his large hands in surrender when I whirled around and aimed the small silver dagger from Eowyn at him. Snorting, Orion lifted his nose and pawed at the ground, glaring at the Ranger, who warily eyed the horse that continued to stand vigilant at my side. "Peace, Samantha, I only wish to speak with you, as we talked of earlier."

Turning back around to hug Orion with all of the love that I could muster, I nodded absently at him – at Aragorn – in agreement. My Orion preened beneath the attention, puffing his strong chest out and whickering in delight, his nostrils flared with excitement. He seemed quite affectionate. Protective, too, if the dark glare Orion leveled back at the Ranger was any indication.

"Go ahead," I bluntly said, lifting both shoulders in a carless shrug, feeling much safer with my new companion. With Orion here, Aragorn would not step closer to touch me, and I would not need to fight off the desire to give in to him. I would not kiss him. Forgive him. Forget what Aragorn said, and did, and…!

_Have Faith, Child. Hope will not abandon you. He will always be there for you. Always…_

Shifting from foot to foot, Aragorn turned his soulful blue stare from Orion and to me. "Please, I wish to speak in private," Aragorn insisted, knowing that Janur remained within hearing distance and could repeat their words – and speak of their actions – to others.

Falling victim to the gentle pleading in his eyes and shy demeanor, I sighed quietly and left the stall. I locked the swinging wooden door with nimble fingers, well accustomed to the action, and petted Orion, assuring my new companion that I would be back in the morning. He needed to be brushed, given fresh oats, and perhaps taken out for a gallop around the fields. Although of good health, Orion looked like the exercise would do him some good, mentally _and_ emotionally – me, too, come to think of it!

"Goodnight, Orion," I whispered, hands wandering through his freshly brushed white mane once more. The Blue Roan gently nipped at me, a gleam of happiness in his blue eyes, and I smiled at him.

"Shall we?" Aragorn quietly inquired, his left hand gently outstretched, beckoning to me as a companion – a suitor – might.

Taking a small breath to steel myself, I lifted both shoulders, my chin held high, and said, "Lead the way."

_Have Faith._

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Oh. My. God! _I am so incredibly happy with this chapter! _ And I hope that you'll like it, too! :)

**What do you all think?** I typed nine pages originally and then added three to properly address the issues between Sammy and Seth, Sammy and the Fellowship, and, by extension, Seth and the Fellowship. But mainly, I wanted to talk about Sammy and Seth and Sammy and Aragorn, as you all requested. She is still pissed at Aragorn and Boromir, but not so much with Legolas and Gimli because the latter actually apologize to her right away and meant it. Legolas helped her find her brother, too. Seth and Boromir will be at odds for awhile, though, because Seth thinks of him as a replacement Dad.

So! With all of that taken care of, **I will have the lemon up soon!** It will probably start off with plenty of talking to sort out the remaining issues between Sammy and Aragorn, but then the fun will start. Look for it in another **two weeks**, okay? _**Update at around 400 reviews. ;)**_

**THANK YOU, EVERYONE! ** I love you all! Platonically, of course. ;)


	32. Chapter 31: Shadows of Doubt

~Chapter Thirty One~

Shadows of Doubt

_Light the Fire and Watch It Burn.  
>Lay It Down and Lose It All.<em>

_So Far Beyond The Point Of No Return;  
>Gave All That I Had When Hope Was Gone.<br>Is This Real Or Is It Just Another Crazy Dream?_

_I Don't Wanna Drown In You.  
>I'm Sinking, and I'm Torn In Two.<br>Down Try To Hold Me Down…  
>Just Save Me Now.<em>

_~Drown In You, _by Daughtry

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

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><p><strong>"Please, I wish to speak in private," Aragorn insisted, knowing that Janur remained within hearing distance and could repeat their words – and speak of their actions – to others.<strong>

**Falling victim to the gentle pleading in his eyes and shy demeanor, I sighed quietly and left the stall. I locked the swinging wooden door with nimble fingers, well accustomed to the action, and petted Orion, assuring my new companion that I would be back in the morning. He needed to be brushed, given fresh oats, and perhaps taken out for a gallop around the fields. Although of good health, Orion looked like the exercise would do him some good, mentally _and_ emotionally – me, too, come to think of it!**

**"Goodnight, Orion," I whispered, hands wandering through his freshly brushed white mane once more. The Blue Roan gently nipped at me, a gleam of happiness in his blue eyes, and I smiled at him.**

**"Shall we?" Aragorn quietly inquired, his left hand gently outstretched, beckoning to me as a companion – a suitor – might.**

**Taking a small breath to steel myself, I lifted both shoulders, my chin held high, and said, "Lead the way."**

**_Have Faith._**

* * *

><p>Obediently, I followed in his wake, swiftly trailing after him like a small, silent shadow. Not, however, because I thought myself beneath him, but because I wanted to be able to escape or run off to hide somewhere if his words turned harsh. Not that I thought Aragorn was overly cruel! I just didn't know what to expect from him right now, or ever, really. We were always at odds, it seemed, and I did not know if I'd – unknowingly – pissed him off again. What I<em> did<em> know was that Aragorn and I really needed to talk this out, whatever _this_ happened to be, anyway…

"Please, Samantha," Aragorn said and gestured to the two green and brown armchairs that rested beside the window seat, to the left and right of the small table in the corner, respectively. "Have a seat."

Hesitantly, I seated myself, and then I eyed him, idly wondering if it might be smarter to stand beside the window, an emergency exit should I need it. I blinked, surprised at how very soft and comfortable the chair was and grinned widely, leaning back in and holding the arms of the chair with loose fingers. My legs, which I'd not paid much attention to, were pretty much spread out, swinging cheerfully at the edge of the much-too-large armchair. As I'd mentioned before, Man seemed much taller in Middle Earth than Earth. Everyone here hit about six or seven inches taller than Seth, who was just shy of six feet, and sixteen inches taller than little ol' me.

A soft, almost inaudible groan could be heard from the Man in the other armchair, and I blinked owlishly at the foreign sound, which did not sound pained in the _least. _Glanced toward Aragorn. Blinked again. The Ranger was seated, with his boots glued firmly to the ground and his head in his hands. He seemed quite frustrated at something, probably _moi, _though I could not tell what exactly I'd done to bother him this time.

Annoyed, I huffed out between parted lips, lifting several strands of hair from by my nose, and glared at him. I roughly demanded, "What the fuck is wrong _now?_" All pretenses gone now that Aragorn and I'd found ourselves alone, without the rest of polite society (King Théoden and Lady Eowyn, for example) to judge what I said and did out of the norm.

Stormy gray eyes swiftly lifted from their hiding spot in his large, rough hands, but Aragorn said nothing, only stared straight at me, simultaneously unnerving the Hell outta me. He observantly scanned everything about me, gray eyes slowly taking in the changes to me. My blonde hair was much longer, falling to my rear end instead of just below my shoulder blades, and I'd been told that there were streaks of brown and red in it again, like when I lived at the Ranch. Blue eyes, once colder than ice, seemed to dance with happiness most of the time. Like I'd noticed in Fangorn, I'd also lost weight, making my curves more obvious. Which, I winced, made countless scars more obvious, too.

_God, I must look __**hideous**__…_

Aiming for subtly, I slowly shifted forward in the chair, attempting to hide the scars on my arms and wrists, gained from seventeen years of abuse and almost four months of running from Orcs, Uruk-hai, and other miscellaneous nasties. Speaking of, I suddenly remembered that I was not wearing pants, either. So I self-consciously crossed both ankles, hiding from view what I had accidently displayed just a moment ago. My sex, although clothed in undergarments and long tights, should still not be clear to his view. My dress, which had ridden up, was swiftly pulled back down. I ignored his small smirk of amusement, knowing that it did not bother me to do such in front of him at the start of this journey, in the boats, and glanced hurriedly to the side, blushing.

Voice gentle now, and strangely much softer, I asked, "Are you okay, Aragorn?" My expression was somewhat pointed, but I could not hide the curiosity in me. "You're acting kind of odd…"

"I should be asking that of _you_," Aragorn finally said, his expression one of empathy, and then reached forward to place his hand atop mine. "Lord Seth put his hands on you and pushed hard enough to _move _you." A dark fury filled his eyes.

While I wanted to childishly remind him that I'd been there – that it had been _me_ who'd been pushed – I did not. I did turn to face him, though; taking that moment to examine him, I faced and eyed him, his body, with interest. He was, as always, handsome beyond words. Black hair, though peppered with strands of silver, was cleaner, shinier than I remembered, possibly because Aragorn could bathe here instead of running around in the Wild, all covered in dirt. Wrinkles – from the feet of the Wise Crow, Boromir joked – outlined his stormy eyes, eyes so warm and filled with so many emotions that it hurt. Some of which I remembered and recognized, and others I did not. Affection, I noted with amazement, and trust. Hot fury, though at me or someone else, I did not know. And…I swallowed nervously_…love._

"Samantha…?"

"Don't worry about it," I muttered, feeling shy all of the sudden, and turned to the side, staring out the window and into the Wild. Sighing, I softly added, "It's not a really big deal. I'm used to being knocked around, Aragorn."

"You should not be _accustomed_ to such harsh treatment!" Aragorn protested. His voice, louder than I ever remembered, lifted further, and I whirled around to stare at him, stunned. He reached out to touch me again, but this time, I flinched back. His hand faltered, falling to the table with a small thud, before Aragorn laughed bitterly and said, "Well, I suppose that I have failed in this endeavor."

Staring at him, feeling strangely interested in what his intentions were at the moment, I hesitantly asked, "What were you trying to do, then?" Blue eyes were wide, expectant almost, and focused intently upon a scar above his lip.

Snorting, the sound strangely bitter and derisive, Aragorn muttered, "Cheer you up…"

When I stared at him incredulously, his cheeks reddened, and Aragorn cleared his throat, looking away. My heart swelled with affection, grateful for his honesty, and I reached out to touch two fingers to the back of his hand, which stiffened at first. His eyes remained trained to the floor, but his hand flipped, his palm open and fingers spread wide. I slowly placed mine in his hand and laced ten fingers together, his and mine. Aragorn turned back and smiled faintly at me.

"Thank you," I said to him, the two words singing out from deep within the burning fires in my chest, and I smiled brightly at him, tears in my eyes. Words could not express just how grateful I would always be to this Man. He'd taught me more than survival skills. My Aragorn was also the key in my new maturity, the drive behind the changes, and I would not be who I was now without him.

"No thanks are needed, but you are welcome, nonetheless," Aragorn gently replied, his voice light, but I could tell that the Man comprehended the depth and sincerity in these two words. He could hear it in my voice.

Sniffing, I roughly wiped the tears away, only stopping because Aragorn caught my palm and brushed the tears away with his thumb, calloused from his sword. "You're always there when I need to talk to somebody," I whispered, "and although I've been a stupid girl from the start, you were sweet and kind enough to put up with it – with _me._"

"Hush, little one," Aragorn scolded, his words surprisingly gentle, and touched his finger to my nose. He flicked it lightly with his thumb and grinned when I glowered at him. "You are not stupid and not _once_ would I have wished to be rid of you."

Eyebrow raised high, I doubtfully said, "But I've always been such a pain in the ass, and –"

His long fingers were over my mouth suddenly, hiding my words inside, and I stared at him, wide eyed, because the Ranger was reaching down to kiss my nose. Gray eyes were positively _burning _with the intensity of his strong emotions, which made his old soul wiser yet. His face, so close to mine, was also older that I thought, but it did not really bother me. I was strangely attracted to him, to his age and wisdom and experience. Experience in warfare, in battle, in strategy, and in…other things.

My face flushed, and I squeezed both legs together, attempting to keep him from noticing the sudden rush of arousal that made me wet. God, I could feel it pooling between my soft thighs, which had lost some muscle, but not enough to fuss about, from being in bed and lazing around Edoras with Seth and Eowyn. From his expression, however, Aragorn could tell that something was making it hard to sit still and look him in the eye. Silver eyes narrowed, nostrils flared in excitement, and lips lifted. He continued talking, thankfully; his next words were apparently important enough to distract him from teasing me.

For now, anyway…

"You _are_ a pain in the backside at times, but," Aragon assured sincerely, "beneath all of that bitter cynicism, I see a young woman who is not stupid, not weak in the slightest. Instead, I see a young woman who is incredibly clever, powerful in her right because it is within her heart to care about other people, though most have done her naught but harm. You love _so_ much, Samantha, too much sometimes, and I envy your ability to forgive."

What the fuck? Were Aragorn and I thinking of the same girl? Because I distinctly remembered hating his guts and wanting to wear 'em as garters for awhile…

"Do not argue," Aragorn said, lifting his hand for silence because I'd given him a strange glance and immediately started to protest, "You may indeed hold grudges, but those do not last for long, especially given the tendencies of most females." His voice was soft, filled with gentle teasing, and humor danced in his eyes. "You and Legolas have become good friends, for example, and I…" He trailed off.

Hearing the question in his voice, I pulled his hand to my cheek, letting it rest there, and placed mine atop his. "You and I are really good friends, too, Aragorn," I reassured him, knowing that to me, this Ranger, this Man, would always mean so much to me. I wanted to be far more than friends.

_Have Faith._

No, I could not tell him.

_Because… _Young Sammy, who cowered beneath the gaze of her father, his ranchers, and the lies spread about her and her big brother, bowed her head in shame. _…I'm scared._

"Now, I have hurt you, and do not think that I did not realize my mistake and regret it," Aragorn lowly said, pain in his words, and muttered, "What I do not understand, however, is how you still permit me near you…"

"Aragorn, I've hurt you, too," I pointed out, flushing faintly in shame at the admission, and I lowered blue eyes. "I have said really mean and nasty words to you – and Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir, too." When Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, I stubbornly said, "You know that I have! And I've done it to Seth, too. He's done the same."

"As has the Fellowship," Aragorn added, obviously displeased with his assessment, and darkly muttered, "There is no excuse, either, for the words we've said to you, or the rough treatment with which I have handled such a young woman." He tossed his head, disgusted with himself, for multiple reasons– and none of which the Ranger would voice to me, ever. "You _are _a woman, a _young_ woman, and I'm…much stronger than you…much older…"

The Ranger seemed to be talking about something else now. What, exactly, I did not know, and I could not begin to fathom why Aragon suddenly seemed to find staring down at me so very interesting. Yes, I'd lost weight and looked older, but I still wasn't the prettiest girl around, either. Eowyn, though…

Quietly, hiding the pain in my mind, I patted his hand, which still rested beneath mine, a constant reminder of his strong presence. I shrugged lightly and said, "Nobody's perfect, Aragorn…"

"Maybe not," Aragorn softly agreed, "but I would not want someone who is perfect to be mine, anyway."

Thinking his words to mean only friendship, I snorted in amusement and pointed out, "Perfect friends _are _really annoying. Speaking of which, how the fuck do you stand Legolas? He's_ too_ perfect!" I smiled cheekily at him, letting him know that I only jested about the Elf.

"Silly girl, I am not speaking of friendship," Aragorn said, his voice low and husky, sweetly rich, like velvet. He smiled, and though it remained gentle, there was something almost _predatory_ in the expression. The Man laughed softly to himself. "You are so naïve, innocent to what I wish to do to you."

Heart pounding, I stared at him, eyes wide, and slowly eased back in the chair. Aragorn, seeing this reaction, slowly climbed to his feet, and walked forward until his feet were right before the chair in which I rested. He leaned forward to brace himself against the arms, two rough hands clutching the material just below my own palms, and bent down. His beautiful silver eyes, the only thing that I could focus on with clarity, were so much closer, close enough that I could touch his eyelashes and fall into the stormy depths of the wells within.

_Drowning, I'm drowning…_

"Do you understand what I speak of?" Aragorn quietly asked, whispering his words into my ear, and I slowly turned to meet his face, lifting blue eyes to meet his with confusion, with fear, and with expectation.

"Not…er, not really," I whispered, incredibly embarrassed to be speaking about my inexperience in the bedroom to the Man that I loved enough to change for. We'd already been through this once, too, when I accidentally mentioned being a virgin, and I did not want to repeat that odd, embarrassing experience. "I mean, uh, I know what…what…s-s…"

Silver eyes were warm suddenly, softening because I blushed darkly and glanced off to the side, not looking him in the eye. "Sex," Aragorn bluntly interjected to speak the word that I could not mention in front of him.

Swallowing nervously, I cleared the lump in my throat and said, "Yes, I know about s-s-sex and stuff, but I…" My ears and cheeks turned redder than before, if possible, and I wanted to vanish into the armchair, never to return.

"You have not been touched before, have you?" Aragorn asked, heat pouring into his eyes, voice, and breath. It washed warmly over my skin, making it hard to breathe and think through the sudden, overwhelming wave of arousal that hit me.

"T-t-touched?" I stuttered, repeating his words in confusion, missing the meaning hidden in their depths. Blue eyes wide, I tried to back further away, my shoulders pressing into the back of the armchair, making it impossible to move. "What do you mean?"

"A Man has not touched here, here –" Aragorn gently placed his right hand to my mouth, before moving it down to my chest, cupping the breast in his palm and letting it rest there for a moment. Then, Aragorn permitted his hand to slowly slide down my tummy and toward the hidden place between my parted thighs. "– and here?"

"No," I whispered out through burning lips, feeling strange because no one, save this Man, had touched these sensitive places before. His hand, I noticed, stayed firmly between my knees and pressed softly against my sex, which ached strangely for his touch. He strongly pressed his thumb against something that made me jump. "…b-b-but…"

"Who?" Aragorn suddenly questioned, his eyes narrowed in lust and, if I could read it correctly, possessiveness. He did not seem to like that I did not finish that sentence because it implied that somebody else arrived before him, that somebody else _touched _what belonged to _him._

Blushing, I glanced into his eyes and shyly finished, "No one, save _you_…"

"Come here," Aragorn murmured into the silence that followed this admission, but when I did not budge again, the Ranger pulled back to frown at me, confused and – I stared at him – hurt. "What is the matter, Samantha?"

"Do you…just want to…fuck me?" I asked, feeling sad at the thought, but needing to know the truth because I did not think that I could just sleep with him if that was all that Aragorn wanted from me. Yes, I'd wanted to for awhile, but I didn't think I could handle the hurt afterwards…

Frozen, Aragorn stared at me, and then pulled back, his eyebrows lifted in incredulity. "You honestly think that I would think that poorly of you? That I would simply use you and leave when satisfied?" He seemed rather offended by these words.

Lip trembling, I ducked down and said, "No, I…I…" My words would not rise to the surface; instead, I picked roughly at the scars on my wrists, hoping that Aragorn did not think I'd meant to insult him.

With this subconscious action, Aragorn could understand; I'd changed, but that lack of self esteem still stubbornly reared its head at times. "No, no, no. Look at me. _Look_ at me," Aragorn insisted, reaching out to cup my chin and lift it to his face. Gray eyes searched mine. "You mean so much to me. You are incredibly brave, alluring in your own way."

When I scoffed, Aragorn frowned in faint disapproval, frustrated with this response, and darkly said, "Believe me, my darling, it has been difficult to keep other Men from pining after you." He scowled openly in annoyance.

Surprised, I whipped around to stare at him and, somewhat loudly, I exclaimed, "You've been warning other Men away?" I wanted to feel indignant – irritated with him, at the least – but it was strangely sweet, and I appreciated it.

"Boromir and Seth have done so, as well," Aragorn sheepishly admitted, his hands nervously running through his hair at my oddly blank expression. "Legolas has taken to telling others that you are a distant relative of his, and Gimli has threatened to behead the Man that is stupid enough to touch you."

"Well," I blankly said, feeling shocked that the others went to such measures. Boromir and Seth made sense. But Legolas and Gimli? The Elf and the Dwarf had remained firmly on the fence for the longest while, unsure of what to make of me. "Then I guess you 'n Eomer will be lacking heads pretty soon…"

At my side, his hands still close to mine, Aragorn became strangely quiet. He cleared his throat and, sounding sad beneath the polite cadence of his voice, asked, "You desire Eomer, then?"

"What?" I asked, incredulously, and with the weirdest expression in my eyes. I stared at him like the Ranger had two heads, instead of one – or none, if Gimli had his way. "No, no, no! No way! Eomer is like _Seth,_ which makes him big brother material and _nothing _else."

"You would not consider entertaining his affections or entering into a courtship with the Horse Lord, then?" Aragorn questioned, seeking clarification for something that I would have thought rather obvious. Lord Eomer, as a wild and fierce warrior, would definitely_ not_ mesh will with insane, rude little me. Be a nightmare, actually…

Shuddering, I darkly muttered, "It would be like kissing Seth." I immediately mimed sticking my index finger down my mouth and being sick. For added effect, I shuddered again and dramatically added, "Ew…!" To which Aragorn chuckled in amusement.

We were silent again, until –

"Besides," I softly said, mustering the courage to stare into his warm eyes, my own shining with the fear that I would be rejected by this wonderful Man, "I have feelings for someone else…"

Silver glittered with sweet hope. "Who, might I ask, is the lucky Man?" Aragorn asked, and the nonchalance of his politely curious expression was at odds with his voice, which wavered with uncertainty.

Uncertainty seemed foreign to him. He was not generally uncertain and prided himself, I knew, on remaining the confident leader of the Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn, while unaccustomed to the demanding position of leadership, was actually born for it. It pumped steadily through his royal blue veins. So, like I said, uncertainty wasn't something that I expected from him. And I wanted to comfort him, to make his worries go away. Still I, being myself, could not resist the temptation.

"Actually, I'm in love with the Dwarf," I bluntly declared, "because you see, it is Gimli that I love!"

"…WHAT?!"

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**THE END!**

Nah, I'm just kidding! :D

So, long story short, I wanted to add the lemon - I really did - but **Aragorn and Sammy** **would not shut up!** This, plus the rest of the conversation and the lemon, turned out to be almost twenty pages! Now, I know someone might be disappointed, but I did think it best to **split** the chapters. I updated about eight days earlier than I promised, since I said two weeks last time, but...I will give you all the** lemon this Friday/Saturday** - _on one condition! _

_**You read, review, and tell me what you've thought of this chapter. **_

**Important Question:** Did the **conversation** help **clear up the tension **between **Aragorn and Sammy? **I'm pretty satisfied with it, but... *Shrug*

**For fun: **Did the ending make you crazy, upset, mad, hysterical with laughter? WHAT? I MUST KNOW!

Yeah, I'm tired... ^^;

'NIGHT!


	33. Chapter 32: Always

~Chapter Thirty Two~

Always

_Just Close Your Eyes.  
>The Sun Is Going Down.<em>

_Don't You Dare Look Out Your Window,  
>Darling, Everything's On Fire; The War Outside Our Door Keeps Raging On.<br>Hold Onto This Lullaby, Even When The Music's Gone._

_No One Can Hurt You Now.  
>Come Morning Light,<br>You and I Will Be…  
>Safe and Sound.<em>

_~Safe and Sound, _by Taylor Swift

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"Besides," I softly said, mustering the courage to stare into his warm eyes, my own shining with the fear that I would be rejected by this wonderful Man, "I have feelings for someone else…"<strong>

**Silver glittered with sweet hope. "Who, might I ask, is the lucky Man?" Aragorn asked, and the nonchalance of his politely curious expression was at odds with his voice, which wavered with uncertainty.**

**Uncertainty seemed foreign to him. He was not generally uncertain and prided himself, I knew, on remaining the confident leader of the Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn, while unaccustomed to the demanding position of leadership, was actually born for it. It pumped steadily through his royal blue veins. So, like I said, uncertainty wasn't something that I expected from him. And I wanted to comfort him, to make his worries go away. Still I, being myself, could not resist the temptation.**

**"Actually, I'm in love with the Dwarf," I bluntly declared, "because you see, it is Gimli that I love!"**

**"…WHAT?!"**

* * *

><p>"Dear God!" I howled out, torn between amusement and hysterics, the latter of which caused tears of laughter to stream from my eyes. "Of all the things I miss, I think I most miss my camera at the moment! Y-y-your expression! If only I could capture it forever! Ha!"<p>

Stormy eyes roared with frustration and, oddly enough, mild embarrassment that colored his tanned cheeks red. Aragorn pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed the flesh with his right hand and grumbled, "…Samantha…"

As always, I missed the warning in his voice and blindly blundered into his trap. My eyes were alight with mirth, and I could barely breathe though the loud (and yeah, obnoxious) laughter that escaped from within me. "You should've _seen_ your expression, Aragorn! Ha, ha, ha!"

Eyes narrowed, Aragorn slowly smirked down at me, and I quieted suddenly, eyeing him with understandable misgiving. Fingers darted out and curled into my sensitive sides, making it hard to breathe – well, harder than it was when I laughed at him, anyway. I yipped at the sensation of suddenly being airborne; I'd not expected Aragorn to carry me away and to the bed. He made to drop me on the large bed, but I swiped both of his long legs out from beneath him at the exact moment, making him yelp and fall with me. He landed heavily atop me, making all of the air rush out of me, and I pushed at his chest. Aragorn swiftly pulled back, staring down at me in concern, thinking that I might be hurt, but I only scowled at him and huffed in irritation.

And Aragorn laughed, cheerfully throwing his head back and letting his laughter fill the air, making him sound and look so many years younger. My eyes softened. He did not often have much to laugh about because his mind remained elsewhere, with the darkness of his past and the bleakness of his future. Always thinking of his responsibilities, duties, oaths, and loyalties. Of being **King.** My Aragorn did not smile often, not that I could really remember, and I really thought that to be terrible. He should be happy. He _deserved _to be happy!

"So do you," Aragorn said, his voice tender with sincerity, making it quite clear that these last words had been spoken instead of kept within my mind. His hand slowly lifted to my cheek and cupped the skin with his palm. He rubbed the flushed skin with his thumb.

Blushing, I swiftly turned to the side to avoid staring into his older, knowing eyes. I eventually steeled myself and, though I could not bring myself to look him in the eyes yet, I muttered, "Aragorn, I wanted to ask you something…"

"Yes, Samantha?" The Ranger asked simply. He slowly pressed his lankier form into my curvier one, carefully bracing his weight with his elbows, and gently rested his head atop my chest. His breathing softened in relaxation and comfort.

Startled, I glanced down to see my sweet Aragorn resting there, his gray eyes closed and his nose on my collar bone. He seemed peaceful, and I did not think that the Ranger would try anything more, so it seemed fine to leave him there. I hesitantly reached out and buried five shaking fingers into his dark hair; it was softer than I thought, though still somewhat coarse at his temples. He rumbled lightly against me in pleasure, clearly enjoying the feeling when I scratched gently at his scalp and treated him like a person. Not Isildur's Heir. A Man. Just…Aragorn. _My Aragorn._

Half asleep, Aragorn tightened his protective grip on my waist, and I smiled down at him, feeling the rush of gratitude for this Man who protected somebody that pretty much _hated_ him at first. I could not ever repay my companions, particularly Boromir and Aragorn, for treating me so well. Before, I would have thought myself in their debt and hated them for it. Now, though, I could tell that this was what people – what **friends **– did for one another. We helped out. We cared.

We loved…

"Your question," Aragorn suddenly prompted, his voice muffled because his face was now pretty much buried between my neck and shoulder. Warm breath whispered down the cleavage hidden beneath the pretty blue dress that I wore. And I shivered.

"Oh!" I chuckled nervously at being caught daydreaming again. "Well, I wanted to ask if you'd think it possible…" Taking another breath of desperately needed air, I rushed out the words and blurted, "…for you 'n me to be happy…" Heart in my eyes and throat. "…together?"

Slowly, Aragorn raised his head and shifted his shoulders to stare down at me. Gray eyes met mine, burning with something undeniably tender, and Aragorn sincerely said, "Yes, I most certainly do." He paused, then whispered something soft, melodic in Elvish.

Confused but curious, I trailed gentle fingers down his forehead and his nose, until I reached his lips. Here, I traced their outline and noted the small marks there from all of the times that Aragorn pursed his lips in thought. I shyly asked, "What does that mean?"

Gentle lips touched mine, and I did nothing, too startled to move away. He pulled back and touched his forehead to mine. "It means, sweet girl," Aragorn whispered, his nose and lips still brushing mine, "that I love you."

Eyes soft, Aragorn reached back down to kiss me again. I gasped into his mouth, taken aback by his sudden move, and his tongue slipped inside. My lips parted further, letting it slide against my own tongue, and I hesitantly kissed him back. Aragorn slowly, gently curled his arms around the waist that I subconsciously angled to his hips, which were just above mine, and squeezed lightly. I moaned softly at the feeling of his warm palms digging into me, and I leaned closer, pushing against his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding him close. Never wanting to let him go.

A rumble of pleasure escaped from the Man who kissed like wildfire. "I wish to ask something of you," Aragorn said, suddenly breaking the kiss, his expression serious, to stare down at me.

"Anything," I mumbled, still dazed from the sensations of his kisses, which ranged from sweet and tender, to passionate and possessive. He'd completely managed to devour my poor mouth – and mind. Nothing made much sense now…

A smirk lifted his lips, like Aragorn was _proud of himself_ for making me so compliant and brain dead, the crazy, old Ranger! "Permit me the honor of loving you?" Aragorn deeply asked of me and, the moment that I slowly, tentatively nodded at him, reached forward to place his lips to mine again.

More kisses were placed to the parted lips that I offered to him. I leaned into his touch, letting him place kisses to my nose, eyes, cheeks, and forehead. Soon enough, though, Aragorn gained momentum and moved lower, his hot mouth swiftly nipping and sucking roughly at my collar bone, leaving a collection of red marks there. His fingers, which had trailed down my sides repeatedly, moved to the loosely tied white strings at the back. He pulled at the collar, his fingers deftly undoing the strings that tied and kept the dress in place.

Slowly, Aragorn pulled the soft dress down to my shoulders, then further, until it pooled at my waist. Although it made me shy, I did not feel too terribly uncomfortable, given that I'd bundled everything to make it appear much smaller. My chest, which jumped nervously beneath his hot, curious fingers, was actually much larger. Aragorn seemed to know this to be true, if the sudden flash of desire in his eyes was any indication. His eyes swiftly darted to mine in question, and I smiled, albeit nervously, granting him permission to do so. He paused, before kissing me again.

"Lean forward," Aragorn instructed, his voice huskier than normal, and gestured for me to lean closer. He clearly wanted to remove my cloth wrappings, but I did not know what would follow that move. Still, I was eager to find out. **More** than eager, really…

When I listened, Aragorn then moved his hands around to my shoulders and began to undo the carefully tied wrappings. His fingers pulled the white material from my suddenly bare chest, and the Man leaned back to stare down at me, a gleam in his eyes. He gently pushed at me, silently urging that I lie back down. Nervously, I continued to follow his instructions, but without his silent commands, I did not know what to do now. I moved restlessly, flustered, and whined almost inaudibly in confusion.

But Aragorn, knowing this of me, slowly leaned forward to place his body atop mine. He then resumed kissing the naked skin beneath his hands and face, his lips trailing from my collar bone, to my ribs, to my pierced navel. Recently cleaned, I could tell that the silver piercing was a point of interest, especially since most Women did not have many piercings. Only Dwarrowdams did that sort of thing in Middle Earth. Aragorn hesitated, his lips hovering against the cold metal, before descending to slip his wet tongue through the curved silver hoop. My eyes practically burst open. Aragorn licked the skin below the hoop, continued, and then slipped his tongue lower, until –

Infuriatingly, Aragorn stopped just above the junction between my softly parted thighs, and only continued when I whined again. He smirked at the pleading sounds and kissed the small button that his long fingers pressed earlier. While still covered with the lower half of the dress, I could feel the sensation, the pressure, and arched both hips against him, wanting to feel the heat again. Aragorn chuckled, kissing down there once more, and then moved back up, mouth burning fire against my tummy. A hand hesitantly covered the soft flesh, like Aragorn just thought of something of importance, and the Man suddenly pulled back.

"What's wrong?" I curiously asked, silently cursing myself for feeling shy again. But I was so very afraid that I might not be living up to his expectations, to the countless Women that had probably graced his bed throughout his years.

Yes, I knew Aragorn had done this before. I was a _virgin._ Not a complete _idiot…_

"If you and I make love, Samantha," Aragorn slowly explained, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts, "then you risk becoming round with child." His throat moving slowly, Aragorn lifted his eyes to mine and murmured, "My child."

Huh. Well, I honestly hadn't considered that because I'd become accustomed to taking birth control and pretty much practicing abstinence. Here, though, I did not have the luxury of birth control, and if I wanted to make love with Aragorn, then I needed to be mature and be prepared to face the consequences. Weirdly enough, I didn't think of having his children as a consequence. I actually found the idea quite pleasant. _Have Faith._

Maybe I would…

"You could take Stoneweed to prevent the likelihood of it happening, but it is still possible to become ripe with child when taking these herbs," Aragorn continued, sounding wary. Perhaps Aragorn worried that I would become pregnant or not want to sleep with him now. Regardless of his worries, I needed to make a choice. Now.

"Aragorn," I started, silently waiting for the Man to face me without wincing at the serious tone I used, "in all honesty, I've wanted children since I was sixteen, which is pretty _weird _where I'm from, but…" I inhaled, smiling faintly at him, and admitted, "I suppose I wanted to make the family that I always wanted to have and be included in."

Eyes closed, Aragorn painfully stated, "You should not have to conceive and birth children to have other family members that love you." He did not seem to want to voice his next thoughts, but I smiled encouragingly at him, and the Man quietly asked, "Do you only want children from this night with me?"

"No!" I exclaimed, frantically lifting both hands to capture his face and pull it to me, eyes staring into his with desperation. "Aragorn, I love you so much that I would do _anything_ for you, even if that meant _not _having children!" It was true, too, though it would hurt beyond words or measure. For him, I would do anything. For his smile, for his happiness…

_Sacrifice._

Startled, Aragorn pulled back to stare at me. My declaration, filled with honesty, entered his ears. He leaned forward to capture my palms in his hands, lifting the knuckles to his mouth, and huskily declared, "On the contrary, I would be most pleased if you're willing to carry my children." And I nodded quietly at him in acceptance.

_Live, Laugh, Love. _In that moment, Aragorn and I did something truly amazing. We changed not only each other with this single decision – no, this **promise** – but also Fate, which continued to guide us and intertwine his life with mine, and vice versa. _Have Hope. _We stared straight into the face opposite our own, gray and blue clashing like the stormy skies above the ocean in the midst of hurricanes. _Have Faith._

Heart pounding, I moved to rest beneath him, feeling strangely excited with the prospect of being nearly naked beneath Aragorn. My lips touched his cheek, then his ear, and I hopefully asked, "Touch me?"

Raising his eyes to meet mine, Aragorn smiled sweetly, his lips pulled back to reveal his straight teeth. "'t would be my pleasure, My Lady," Aragorn purred, his voice already lost beneath the weight of his lips and tongue, which curled around the breasts in his hands.

My Aragorn began to gently suckle at me. I gasped out, surprised at the alternating sensations of his wet mouth and hot breath washing over my naked skin. While not unpleasant, I thought it to be sort of strange and tried to lean away. He continued his sensual ministrations, however, and made certain that I could not move. His hands, which had been at my waist, slithered back; his right moved to my right breast, and his left, over my rear. He gently slipped his hand beneath my dress, his large hand nearly covering my ass cheek, his fingers digging into the tender skin with rough affection. And I moaned.

Lost in these sensations, I did not notice his hips meet mine and, when Aragorn bit down on my nipple particularly hard, I practically jumped off of the bed in searing white pleasure. My back arched, hips rising to meet his, and I moved from side to side, unintentionally brushing against his erection. He grunted in surprise, his hips bucking against mine, and I could feel him, could feel his manhood heavy and hard against my stomach. It did frighten me, and yet, I could not help but feel excited, too.

The Ranger must have sensed these feelings because, the next thing I knew, the rest of the blue dress vanished, pulled down my parted legs and tossed to the floor without a care. Beneath his fully clothed form, I only wore my panties. Staring at him, eyes wide, I bleated, "_Aragorn!_"

A wicked smirk claimed his lips, and Aragorn pulled back to scan my nearly naked form, to which I weakly protested. I attempted to hit his shoulder, feeling embarrassed, but Aragorn only caught my wrist in his large hand, holding it gently. The other swiftly followed, and I could only pout up at him, annoyed at the ease with which Aragorn restrained me. Eyes softening, Aragorn kissed the knuckles of the hand closest to his mouth, pushing his lips there with a stubborn, firm strength. He then released both hands, before letting me move and sit up, a pink blush staining my nose.

Subconsciously, I lifted both arms and covered the naked breasts that Aragorn could clearly see, and blushed darker because the Ranger chuckled at me, amused with this sudden modesty. I suppose it _would _be funny to the experienced Man, but I could not help feeling embarrassed, having not been in this situation before. Sensing that I'd become uncomfortable, though, Aragorn paused and then leaned back, bracing his weight on strong legs and ankles.

"Come to me," Aragorn quietly demanded, his fingers crooked, and I warily listened, slowly crawling to him on palms and knees. Something about the picture that I painted, with my mouth closer to his stomach than anything else, seemed to make him lose his composure. His cheeks flushed, silver eyes dark with want, Aragorn murmured, "Closer. _Much_ closer, little lover…"

Heat in my veins and stomach, I complied, leaning forward to touch him, hands trailing down his muscular chest. I let two fingers fall beneath the collar of his loose black tunic, brushing against the dark chest hair that I could barely see peeking out from beneath his shirt. The hairs were soft and featherlike to the touch, something that I marveled at. I attempted to explore again, but the Man moved backwards. Gently, Aragorn pushed at me, putting a greater distance between us, and pulled the tunic upward, from his chest, and tossed it to the floor to join my recently discarded dress.

Feeling hot, I leaned back to examine him. His skin, tanned beneath the sun under which his training occurred, appeared taut, stretched tightly over a collection of strong muscles and bones. Another collection, however, marred the perfection of his beautifully bronzed skin. Dozens of old wounds, scars ranging from long and red, to small and pink, covered his skin. Some were new, others probably older than _me_. I felt sad for him, until I could hear a whisper of the old words I'd heard back home: _Scars remind us of where we're from, and where we're goin', Angel. _

No, I decided then. Aragorn was not old, not broken, and certainly not **scarred.** His skin was not marred beneath the carvings of silver swords and claws and other sharp weapons. His beauty was in his imperfections – his salt and peppered hair, his laugh lines, his calloused hands, his scars. Yes, Aragorn was perfectly _imperfect._ Just like me…

_You shine like the stars._

"You're incredibly handsome," I suddenly said, completely serious in my words, to which the Ranger raised his eyebrows and stared at me, a strange expression plastered to his handsome face. He seemed almost…perplexed.

"Normally," Aragorn dryly muttered, his lips curling faintly in bemusement, "It is the _Man _who compliments the lovely appearance of his _Woman_."

Grinning, I could not resist poking him in the chest and kissing the skin above his heart, which made him inhale sharply. I laughingly teased, "You must be getting slow in your years, then, Ranger!"

Appearing affronted, Aragorn lunged at me and started to tickle me again. I cackled the moment his fingers began to sink into my sides and laughed uproariously, not feeling the need to appear shy, dainty, and ladylike in front of this Man that loved the _real_ me. Why fake being someone else, like Lady Samantha, when Aragorn loved plain ol' Sammy Steel?

"I will show you my age!" Aragorn responded, his happy expression filled with laughter. He paused not two minutes later, however, appearing somewhat self-conscious. "Do I really look that old?" Clearing his throat, Aragorn sheepishly explained, "You always refer to me as a crazy, old Ranger…"

When presented with his question, I smiled faintly at this vulnerable and, admittedly, rather adorable side of the Man that I loved. I gently explained, "No, Aragorn, I just like to tease you, and I think you carry your age very well. Besides, I love you, regardless of the differences between us, includin' the fact that I'm much, _much _younger." And I winced in worry.

Gray eyes were soft in the glow of the candlelight. "You will learn, little one, that I do not find much fault with your age or your open-mindedness, though I do wish you'd keep your mouth shut sometimes," Aragorn teased, loving that I scowled playfully at him at the reminder of all the times my words and beliefs caused trouble for us.

A thought suddenly whispered through me, and I could not help but wonder if there might be some truth to the fear. "You don't think of me as a child, do you?" I quietly asked him, feeling pathetically insecure next to his years of life and experience.

"No," Aragorn decidedly denied, permitting his heated stare to wander from my eyes, to bare chest, to obviously wet sex, "I think nothing of the sort." He paused, his gray eyes closed, and muttered, "If I did, I would certainly burn forever in the afterlife for thinking of all these things that I wish to do to you…"

Smirking happily at his words, I leaned forward and, lips against his ear, whispered, "Show me."

Then, Aragorn complied. His lips were on mine with the weight of his desire, but his hands dropped to his trousers, removing the belts that usually held his weapons and supplies. I soon moved both hands down to help him, carefully tugging his dark pants down while the Ranger bit down on my neck. I might like to preach about being fiercely independent, but somewhere, not even really deep down, I wanted to submit to this Man, and _only this Man._ Moaning, I leaned back, revealing more skin, and Aragorn growled softly in his throat at the submissive gesture. He brushed his lips over my newest love bite. Judging by his possessive expression and the sound of his growl, Aragorn was absurdly pleased with himself for making that hickey, too.

"Lie down, Samantha," Aragorn commanded with the barest hint of authority whispering into his words, his dark voice sending shivers up my spine and into my core. Oh! The way my name sounded coming from his lips…!

Slowly, I fell back to the bed, resting my waist against the sheets and head against his pillows, which smelled strongly of him. A familiar, heady scent of the forest, herbs, sunshine, and sweat made me want to curl around his pillow and hug it tightly to me. My heart pounded steadily in my chest, whispering in my ears of all the things to come, and of all the things that Aragorn would do to me. That I would do to _him._

A hand suddenly dropped to my waist, crawled down my stomach, fingers splayed just below my navel. "Do you want to stop?" Aragorn asked, roughly, and his voice was noticeably hoarser. "I ask because I do not think that I will be of the mind to do so after this point…"

"No," I protested, swiftly taking his hand in mine when Aragorn jerked back, taking this short answer as an order to stop. Softly, I brought his hand back to my stomach and corrected, "I want to…I want to make love with you…please?"

Something in him seemed to shift, and Aragorn moved forward to hug me close, his face buried in my shoulder, his hands on my arms, and his legs on either side of me. We stayed like that a moment, holding each other, and I leaned against his chest, blue eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat. I reveled in the medley of feelings – of safety, of affection, of love, and of gentle possessiveness – that Aragorn offered to me. And I hoped I that I offered him the same.

Slowly, I permitted Aragorn to move us closer to the sheets, until both his body and mine were suddenly horizontal. My panties were removed, followed by the thudding of his falling boots, and Aragorn then swiftly removed his breeches. His eyes on mine, Aragorn slipped his right hand between my parted legs, watching me as my eyes slowly followed the progress of his fingers, which parted wet lips, curling inside of me.

Biting down in surprise, I glanced at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes, and moaned softly in approval, enjoying the sensation of his two fingers slowly moving and curling against my warm inner walls. I could feel the stretching, and I absently realized that Aragorn must be preparing me, making it easier for the next step. Thoughts of what would happen in a moment made it hard to breathe. Suddenly, I was nervous, and afraid. That it would hurt, that I would not be good enough, that I would disappoint him. All these things 'n more.

"Do not fear, little Samantha," Aragorn murmured, his mouth against my ear, "I will be gentle."

Moving back, Aragorn insistently pushed into me, a soft mumble of Elvish falling from his lips like rain. My back arched, legs parted, and I could feel the pressure starting, a sign that Aragorn was going to break through the hymen in a minute. Stomach aching and heart pounding, I clung to him, fingernails scratching at his back, his strong muscles and shoulder blades. And then, Aragorn thrust within me.

Admittedly, I cried out in shock and in pain, feeling like I would break in half if Aragorn continued. He slowed, stopping mid thrust to let my smaller form adjust to his overwhelming size – which, I stupidly realized too late, was rather proportionate to his height. While a man of Earth might be six to eight inches, I had the sneaking suspicion that Aragorn might be nine to ten! And I'd always been shorter than the most girls. _Unfortunately!_

Yeah. In other words, I wanted to _**die**_…

After a moment of cursing God, darkly wondering how anybody could think of sexual intercourse as a pleasant experience, I could feel Aragorn move. His tense form, which had begun to sweat profusely, inched further inside, until his manhood could be sheathed fully inside of me. I slowly moved with him, attempting to meet him thrust for thrust, when Aragorn started to really move. We fumbled for a moment, uncertain how to match the other, but then –

"…Harder, Aragorn!" I begged, lifting up and meeting the firm smack of his hips against mine. I opened blue eyes and watched him pull out and then push back in, sinking in until I could not see anymore. He hit something in me that made stars explode, my wild heart catching fire, and I desperately chanted, "Harder, harder, _harder!_"

"As you wish," Aragorn hoarsely whispered and pulled back, holding himself above me with his palms splayed beside my shoulders. His knees were on the bed, lower legs stretched behind him, while mine were wrapped around his thin waist, ankles crossed behind his backside. We moved together, falling into a rhythm made for only us, and moaned softly into the mouth of the other.

"Little Samantha, look at me," Aragorn murmured, and I glanced at him, peering through half shuttered blue eyes. Silver wind met blue skies. A dark gleam entered his eyes, though I could not see it through the stars, and Aragorn growled, "_Scream my name._"

Before, I'd been biting my cheeks, keeping quiet for the sake of keeping his reputation (and also _mine,_ as an afterthought) in good standing. I was not afraid of letting people know that I loved Aragorn. I didn't really want people to know that we'd slept together before marriage, though, because it was considered improper here. Our children would be bastards in their eyes, unless Aragorn and I married before their birth. So I wanted to keep quiet, to keep from crying out. His words, however, completely deteriorated that resolve…

"Holy Hell, Aragorn!" I gasped out, his name screaming out from between parted lips, again, and again, and again as my orgasm exploded like fireworks behind closed blue eyes. Whimpered, I only whimpered out a cry when Aragorn continued, and I screamed, "A-A-_Aragorn!_"

"Good girl," Aragorn grunted, obviously pleased, and his hips began meeting mine in an even swifter, harsher rhythm. The Man pounded faster, harder, until – "Samantha!" More Elvish followed this soft cry.

Soft humming flowed through me, an aftershock of stars and fire and rain whispering in my veins with each residual pulse inside of me. I hugged him close as my quickened breathing slowed again and whispered, "Love you…"

"I love you, too," Aragorn murmured, kissing me gently, and placed his head back on my chest, just above the steady beat of the heart within its cage. A heart which belonged to him, I knew. It would – forever and for always – belong to him. So would I…

Yawning, I cuddled into his strong arms, savoring the familiar feeling of sleeping beside another warm person, and sleepily mumbled, "Shouldn't I head back to my room?"

"No, Samantha," Aragorn whispered back, brushing strands of golden hair from my eyes, "You will stay with me, as you always should." Silver eyes softened to molten liquid. "I will keep you safe, and I will love you." He gently placed another kiss to my red, swollen lips. "Sleep now."

"Stay with me?"

"Always…"

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

*Shyly Waves* _Hi!_** Sorry** about this being late, but I am pretty **sick,** with nasty stuff in my nose, a cough, and migraines. Couldn't even open my eyes yesterday without wanting to die! I'm heavily medicated today, though! Woohoo~! XD

**What do you all think, though?** Do you all like the lemon? I really like it. And I have the next lemon, which is a couple of chapters later, planned out. The next chapter is started, too! It might take two weeks to finish and upload; I have lots of college course work due in the next two weeks... :P

**On a more important note** - _Thank you so, so, so, so much! _ God, I can't express my affection for the people that read this story and review with such wonderful praise and constructive criticism and questions and ideas! _You're all amazing!_ I would not have continued this story without you. All of you!

So, please keep doing what you're doing! **Read, enjoy the story, and review!** Please and thank you! :)

**Question: **Do you think Sammy is going to fall off the cliff with Aragorn or not? Let me know!


	34. Chapter 33: Never

~Chapter Thirty Three~

Never

_Speak Your Mind._

_It's Never Enough For You, Baby.  
>Don't Wanna Play Your Game Anymore.<br>No Matter What You Say._

_I'm All Out of Love For You, Baby.  
>And Now That I've Tried Everything,<br>I'll Numb the Pain 'til I Am Made of Stone._

_I'll Numb the Pain 'til I Am Made…  
>To Tear Out My Heart For the Way That It Feels.<br>I Will Still Remember When You've Long Forgotten Me._

_It's Never Enough For You._

_~Made of Stone, _by Evanescence

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Soft humming flowed through me, an aftershock of stars and fire and rain whispering in my veins with each residual pulse inside of me. I hugged him close as my quickened breathing slowed again and whispered, "Love you…"<strong>

**"I love you, too," Aragorn murmured, kissing me gently, and placed his head back on my chest, just above the steady beat of the heart within its cage. A heart which belonged to him, I knew. It would – forever and for always – belong to him. So would I…**

**Yawning, I cuddled into his strong arms, savoring the familiar feeling of sleeping beside another warm person, and sleepily mumbled, "Shouldn't I head back to my room?"**

**"No, Samantha," Aragorn whispered back, brushing strands of golden hair from my eyes, "You will stay with me, as you always should." Silver eyes softened to molten liquid. "I will keep you safe, and I will love you." He gently placed another kiss to my red, swollen lips. "Sleep now."**

**"Stay with me?"**

**"Always…"**

* * *

><p><em>War…<em>

My heart hammering, I gazed into the water and examined the image it presented, feeling apprehensive as my eyes scrutinized the makeup – war paint, really – Eowyn used to color on me. Blue eyes and white cheeks appeared sharp, outlined with black coal; thin lips pursed beneath the strange weight of balm, made from blood red cherries, salt, and flour. Middle Earth makeup, I discovered right then and there, I liked much better than promiscuous junk from Earth. Yep.

Why? Because I still looked like **me.** Pale and covered in so many scars. Like a corpse.

Like Faramir said: _War will make corpses of all of us._

Withdrawing from my reflection, I shifted back and stared into the vast distance, hand above my eyes to shield them from the sun. I glanced from side to side, taking in the mountainous hills and the yellow green grass, searching for anything amiss. Aside from the large buck, his doe and fawn at his side, I could not see anything out of the ordinary. No one was skulking around. _Thank the Valar!_

"Coast is clear," I called back through two cupped hands, loudly projecting my voice through the makeshift funnel to be heard another forty to fifty yards off. Just like I used to do at the Ranch. Guess all that time yelling at other people turned out to be good for something after all!

My hands dropped several inches, to my neck, and fingers wrapped around the strap to my new quiver and bow, polished under the strict instructions of Legolas. Coast might be clear, yeah, but I didn't want anything _untoward _sneaking up on me. It might feel safe, but I could be wrong, a possible victim lured in with the blanket of false security, like in Fangorn. Better to keep my arrows and bow handy at all times. Definitely learned that lesson last time…

"Good," My Twin grumbled, his right hand reaching up to scratch at his five o' clock shadow, left firmly attached to the hilt of his unsheathed sword. His fingers tightened until his knuckles popped; I grimaced. "Suppose we should just be gettin' back to the others, then."

Apprehensively, I stayed silent, unwilling to draw his attention – and ire – back to me. You see, my older brother wanted to go on a rampage a couple of days ago and murder someone, someone named Aragorn. Not that I really blamed him. My Twin, after searching the entirety of Edoras for me, was already in another terrible mood, and that mood reared its head _long_ before Seth overheard from the gossiping maids that I'd _spent the night_ with **Aragorn.** Yeah…

What made everything ten times _worse_ was my appearance. I left the bedroom – **his** bedroom – with bruised lips, hickeys, and the clothes I had been wearing yesterday. My Twin stared at me and, Seth being Seth, started screaming profanities at me and punching the wall in anger. After the third crunch of fist meeting stone, Aragorn rushed out of the room, apparently worried that somebody tried to hurt me. I winced at the memory of Seth falling deathly silent, then turning purple and lunging at Aragorn. Seth put up a pretty good fight, all kidding aside, but Aragorn was sixty plus years older, with _incredible _stamina. And **I** should know, too.

Long story short: Aragorn knocked him out with ease. No contest.

Kinda pissed Seth off…

"Not that I want to head back 'n talk to the Fellowshits, but I'm pretty damn hungry," Seth sarcastically finished and, without another word, climbed back into his saddle. He pulled at the reins and started to guide Aglæca back to camp, never once turning back around to face me.

See what I mean? God! My heart sank, and I wanted to cry. Seth always _was_ an angry person, with the worst temper and the shortest fuse imaginable, to boot. But I blamed that mainly on our situation back home, with Daddy, the Ranch, and _that_ mess. 'Cuz Seth was usually cheerful and smiled all the damn time. Sometimes, though, Seth became very angry and lashed out at others, and I couldn't ever see it coming, either. Like last week, when Seth lost his temper and lunged right at _me. _Never would I have thought Seth would put his hands on me.

_Never…_

"Shouldn't we go 'n check around the bend, too?" I asked, though I wanted to be bossy and order him to turn around to check it out. Seth, however, did not answer me anyway. My lips pursed in annoyance until I thought the red lip stains might actually be blood, and I growled, "_…Seth!_"

An odd gleam of emotion flickered through his eyes, and Seth seemed to think of something that made him tremble faintly. He nervously licked his lips, glancing nervously into the distance, and muttered, "No use stickin' 'round, looking for trouble, Sammy."

_War stole something from me…_

…_and from Seth._

_**Courage.**_

All the fight in me vanished then, drowned out beneath the anxiety in his words, and I softly sighed, "Fine."

"Fine," Seth petulantly muttered, his mood shifting constantly between angry and anxious, almost fast enough to give me whiplash. He clicked his tongue and, though pissed off, gently nudged the sides of Aglæca, who tossed his head in irritation and rushed forward.

"Ugh! Sometimes, I really _hate_ men," I grumbled darkly, feeling beyond annoyed with the rift present between Seth and myself.

Okay, I was _partly_ to blame. However, I couldn't really help that I'd fallen in love with Aragorn because, well, the heart wants what the heart wants, and it wanted to with Aragorn so much that it _hurt._ He wanted to be with me, too. Why couldn't Seth just be happy for me? Why couldn't Seth _understand?_ It wasn't like I replaced him! God knows I couldn't! **No one** could replace Seth. Not Boromir. Not Aragorn. No one…

Even though I claimed that to be true, I had not spent much time with Seth in the last week. As a matter of fact, however, I'd not had time to spend with Aragorn, either. The night after Aragorn and I made love, King Théoden announced that everybody needed to evacuate within the next week, to pick out their most important belongings, to meet together, and to start heading towards…

**_Helm's Deep. _**

I was scared shitless. So I busied myself with helping out, keeping inventories of the supplies we needed and had, helping Eowyn bring food to the sick and the wounded (since I pretty much fainted whenever the healer asked that I help tend to their wounds), and watching after Freda and Ѐothain. Not a moment did I have to spend with Seth and Aragorn, who seemingly vanished into thin air, gone. It made me sad, and I did complain (loudly) at first, but I eventually shut up. My complaints only annoyed Eowyn and made her angry. She missed Seth, too.

Everyone else from the Fellowship stopped by quite often, though…

Like clockwork, Legolas appeared regularly at every meal to make certain that I ate something here and there, oftentimes forcing water and fruits on me. He would make certain that I finished almost everything given to me and then start talking about his home and, eventually, I convinced him to talk about his beloved half sister. She sounded _amazing,_ with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and wit. She was much too vain and proud, Legolas fondly admitted. Much like myself, I heard. And Aragorn, though his vanity was nonexistent unless I happened to be in the nearby vicinity, which made Legolas laugh in amusement, since Aragorn would fret over age and other stupid things that I thought _I told_ _him _didn't bother me! Nevertheless, Legolas found it positively wonderful that Aragorn had finally picked his "mate."

And while the Elf would also eat with me and talk, I wondered sometimes if Legolas really paid much attention to our conversations. Ancient blue eyes were always glued to me – or rather, the stomach that I continued to fill with lots of water and healthy foods. It made me…_nervous._

Thirty minutes later, Gimli would arrive to spend time with me. Gimli always waited for Legolas to leave first before making his entrance, though, and I would then be urged to "drop the quill, sit beside me, and take time for yerself, Lass." He would laugh loudly, relentlessly teasing me about bedding Aragorn and baring him the next King, and then start telling his secondhand stories about the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Ѐothain and Freda would often join us now, **after** Gimli finished teasing me, and listen to him talk of his kin. We particularly adored the stories about the three youngest Dwarves – Ori, Fíli, and Kíli. And Bilbo. I loved Bilbo.

Although the Gondorian visited less often, Boromir did stop by for two to three hours to help out with Freda and Ѐothain, balancing this lack of visits with the amount of times dedicated to each one. We were pretty awkward around each other at first, feeling guilty _and_ hurt, but eventually, Boromir apologized for his actions. **I** apologized, too, though with less grace. Discussing my relationship with Aragorn almost sent us a step back, since Boromir wasn't happy with the sexual part of it occurring before marriage. He relented, for now, since I seemed happy.

Afterwards, Boromir talked about Gondor and his family, and I listened intently. Like Gimli, Boromir could spin a mean yarn. We would all sit in the library for his tales, and Ѐothain, Freda, and I listened avidly to his stories of the Steward, Denethor, teaching Boromir and Faramir about history, of the Battle of the Five Armies, and the war. Of Arianna, his mother, teaching him to read, to paint, and to ride horses. She was, it turned out, from Rohan, and distantly related to King Théoden.

We enjoyed these stories, but above all, Ѐothain, Freda, and I loved to listen to Boromir talk about his little brother, Faramir; Boromir talked most frequently of him. Faramir, I could easily tell, would be the sweeter, gentler side of Boromir, who still had the tendency to show his mean cunning in his words and his temper on a rare occasion. I loved him, regardless. And Boromir, I found, _loved_ children, and that made it all the easier to love _him,_ pride and all. Countless stories of pretend, of playing knights, fighting dragons, and marrying princesses, filled the hours Boromir spent with us.

Lifting my eyes to the beautiful, blue skies and breathing in the fresh air, I gratefully whispered, "Thank you _so much,_ Manwë, for giving me a second chance. I only hope that I make you and Oromë and Eru proud."

A frustrated whicker snapped into my ears and thoughts; Orion waited impatiently for me, annoyed that Seth and Aglæca left without us. I scampered to him, afraid that I might get left behind if I did not reach Orion in the next minute or so, and hastily clambered straight into the saddle. It did take some practice, and patience that I did not usually have, but I could pretty much get into the saddle without taking too long or needing assistance. For the most part, anyway…

(I still fell flat on my ass on many occasions. It hurt, but it made Gimli pretty happy. Shrug.)

"C'mon, Orion," I softly gasped, feeling out of breath from my war with the saddle, and kicked lightly at his sides. "We need to catch up, or else Seth might eat all of the good food and leave us with the _lovely _stew that Eowyn fixed for lunch!" My nose curled in distaste. "…Blech!"

_Seriously, _**_Seth_**_ should eat that nasty shit. _I grumbled to myself. _He needs to get used to it and learn to stomach that disastrous concoction before the two of 'em get married. I love her and all, but it's all Eowyn knows how to make, and it tastes _**_awful_**_…_

"Hurry it up!" Seth barked, loudly, sounding closer than the last time, when his last words reached out to me. My heart – and face – lifted at the sound of his voice, though I could tell by his expression that frustration still boiled in his veins. To which I called, "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Shut up," Seth muttered, but his lips twitched faintly into a small smile of amusement at the sarcastically uttered words and the sloppy salute I shot him. He frowned again, however, when Orion and I finally reached his side. My Twin asked, "You see any of those big Orcs, Twin?"

Apprehensively, I shifted in my seat, feeling uncomfortable beneath his worried stare, and admitted, "Nope, I haven't seen anything – or anyone – except the deer back there, Seth."

Almost wished that I could have responded in the affirmative; I needed to know at what point in the timeline we were now, and I couldn't do that without the Orcs. No matter how hard I tried, I could not pinpoint it, though, and I'd started to worry. What if I couldn't keep the others out of trouble? Yeah, I remembered that Legolas and Gimli – eventually Aragorn, too – would arrive, safe and sound, at Helm's Deep.

_What about Boromir, though? What about Seth? What about…_

"Look out, Sammy!" Seth suddenly cried out, his fear almost tangible, screaming on the wind and in my ears.

…_me?_

Screaming, I pulled back from the perceived threat in front of me, my eyes wide and scared. My hands, which automatically tightened around the reins, began to sweat, and I nearly went flying because the leather slipped from my palms. Seth kept me seated, though; his hands reached out to catch me and steady the saddle, which slipped from its perch around the top of the horse and to its sides, almost reaching its belly when I jerked backwards.

An arrow whizzed by, and I ducked, lucky enough to avoid it because of the awkward position I found myself in with the saddle. It did not miss Seth, however, and the shaft of the long arrow whispering against his cheek and bit into his ear. He hissed out in pain but did not waste time complaining about the wound; instead, Seth urged Aglæca into a swift gallop. And Orion followed him, too. Thank God, because I'd been frozen with fright.

Another arrow, and another, rained down upon us. Some narrowly missed, while others bounced off of the iron shoulder plates that Seth let me use. My Twin turned around long enough to yell at me, a command of sorts escaping his lips in the hopes of reaching my ears. Each clanking of arrows against metal (which really **fucking **hurt, believe it or not) made it hard to hear him, and nothing made sense. So I listened to myself, instead. After all, I'd gotten _this_ far without his help. Why should I stop following my instincts just because I'd found Seth again?

My body pressed into Orion, I leaned against his neck and whistled in his ear, my signal that his gait should shift into another gallop, one usually reserved for races – and getting the Hell outta Dodge!

Instinctively, Orion jumped off of the edge of the cliff, flying the last five feet to the ground and landing firmly with his hooves. I screamed, leaning further into his neck, bottom up and hands glued to his mane. The reins, long forgotten, whipped behind his head and smacked against my now wind burned face. One whipped into my eye and slit the skin below the eyebrow. Blood dripped down my eyes and into my nose, making it harder to breathe, and then –

_**Crunch! **_My stomach lurched, and I vomited, losing my meal of dried ham, cheese, and bread everywhere. I could not scream or yell for fear of attracting attention from other Orcs, but I did start to cry, and I cried harder with every rough step that Orion made. My vision blacked, and I fainted for a second, before coming to, face buried in his neck. And I found it.

An arrow was sticking out from its place in my – _oh, __**God**_ – thigh.

My mantra – _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –_ continued for what I thought to be _hours _but turned out to be, in all actuality, only a couple of minutes. I finally snapped out of it in the next moment, when Seth made another turn, clearly attempting to lead these Orcs further from _their_ camp – and from the camp _we'd_ made not two miles from here. Thankfully, Orion still followed in their wake, sweaty but far from exhausted because of his good breeding and the training instilled in him by Horse Master Janur.

So I busied myself with unclasping the strap connecting me and the bow swinging on my shoulder, before turning around in the saddle with much gritting of teeth and cursing of nasty (but well deserved, in my opinion) profanities. It hurt. It hurt beyond words. God, I wanted to die again, because it hurt so much! And I'd started to wonder if I could do it, if I could actually succeed, but I finally managed to turn enough that I could face the enemy while still reaching down into my quiver of arrows. _Bingo!_

Knocking the first of several, I lifted the bow, aimed at the closest Orc, and fired.

It missed.

"Shit! Shit, damn, fuck," I bitched, fear in my eyes and stomach and heart because I could not _afford _to miss. I needed to hit the fuckers, kill 'em, and keep 'em the fuck away. Away, away, away!

God, Aglæca and Orion could not keep this up! We could not keep running forever! Eventually, Seth and I would _have_ to head back, to get reinforcements, but that would also mean we ran the risk of leading them to several hundred innocent people, most of whom could not fight. And I could not do it, I could not do it, I could not, I would not…! Panic screamed inside of me.

Another arrow was removed from the quiver, and I lined it up with careful precision, taking aim at the same enemy, arms shaking from exhaustion and fear. I breathed in and out, in and out, and then, I breathed in. My arrow was released with the next breath, flying through the air, whistling a song of war. My eyes slammed shut. And I prayed. _Please, I need to hit him, I need to kill him. I must! I must kill him!_

An Orc screamed.

_Thank you._

And I fired another arrow, another, and another, and another, each trajectory hitting the wood with the faintest twinge of metal against wood, before screaming from the bow. My heart was not beating; at the least, I could not hear it in my ears anymore. Nothing, I could hear _nothing._ Not Orion screaming his battle cry, not his hooves hitting the ground again and again, not the wind roaring in my ears, not the Orcs, and not the heart screaming in fear inside of me. Only silence.

Only later did I remember hitting three of the five Orcs from their perches. Two Wargs followed suit, though the first fell because his Master dragged him to the ground in death. Up ahead, Seth heard their dying screams and turned back around, his expression of stunned disbelief hardening into that familiar stubborn determination, and wheeled Aglæca around to face the enemy. Orion circled around the pair, prepared to fight at their side, but Seth bellowed at the horse to keep going, to run away, and –

Orion listened.

He ran.

_No!_

My mind screamed out in horror, but I could not make the connection between thought and action. Arms remained limp, hands frozen, but Orion continued onwards, though I did not grab the reins that dangled from the bridle around his face. He rushed forward, black pupils blown up wide enough to consume every inch of white in his eyes, and parted his lips to release the frothy saliva gathering around his teeth. Sweat dampened his blue coat until it became black, and I slipped in the saddle, drowning in sweat and tears.

_Help. I need help. I need…_

"By the Valar, Samantha has returned, and – oh, no!" Boromir suddenly cried, his strong voice brimming with the beginnings of horror. He caught sight of Orcish arrow protruding from the thigh clenched tightly around Orion and blanched, tanned skin turning puce.

My guardian wasted little time in bolting forward, his hands already reaching out to remove my shaking form from the saddle when Orion finally stopped beside him, and let me wrap my arms around his neck for support. Gray eyes were suddenly, _frantically _observing every inch of skin for wounds, but I hoarsely whispered that only the arrow in me was causing pain, to which the Gondorian cursed. One Man, having heard the commotion, came running and removed Orion, bringing him to the makeshift stables, per an order barked by Boromir. More orders. Another Man immediately went to alert the rest of the Fellowship. Voices. I could hear voices.

"What has happened, Lord Boromir?" King Théoden demanded, his question ripping through the chaos that followed Orion and I into the camp. Blue eyes swiftly darted to my guardian and, by extension, me. He blanched, his touch exterior slipping for a second, before his composure was regained. "What news of the road ahead, Lady Samantha?"

"Five Orcs, three of which I killed, and eight Wargs," I whispered, throat raw and fear making it hard to speak up. My eyes closed against the pain that suddenly hit with this announcement, the nerves in the wounded thigh thundering in me, a wire of electricity screaming from the arrow wound and to my mouth. And I whimpered.

New purpose seemed to shoot through King Théoden. He swiftly began barking orders and commands, his voice carrying over and drowning out the confused voices of the warriors, who worked hard to keep the citizens of Edoras – a people without their home – calm and collected. My guardian, Boromir, remained with me, even as the King of Rohan stomped off to issue new orders and check the safety of the premises. Our camp must stay safe at all costs.

"Seth," I sobbed desperately through the tears of pain and fear clouding my eyes, searching for him and then clutching at Boromir with all of the might left in me. "Boromir, Seth is still back _there,_ with the Orcs!"

Gray eyes, once colder than ice, suddenly softened. "Hush now. You are safe, little one, and I will permit nothing else to hurt you," Boromir promised, large hands brushing through the hair in my eyes and moving it back over my ears.

My heart shattered, something inside of me aware of the truth, knowing that Boromir was now _purposely_ avoiding my worries because the Gondorian did not believe that Seth would make it back alive. And I shrieked, "_But Seth is goin' to fuckin' __**die**__…!_"

A hand covered trembling lips, and Boromir glared halfheartedly down at me, a reprimand present but lacking all of the fire it usually carried. "Your brother will be safe, but you mustn't distract the warriors from their duties, Samantha. Most of them must remain _here,_ to keep the innocents safe, but several will be spared to help Seth, provided that everyone remains calm."

"Okay," I whispered in agreement. My lips continued to tremble, and I wanted to scream until I passed out, but I kept quiet, waiting, waiting, waiting with shut eyes as my guardian walked toward the tent at the back of the camp.

Once the flap had been pushed aside, Boromir walked in and gently set me on a clean blanket. A series of dark curses were suddenly uttered, followed by the sounds of two pairs of heavy boots thumping against soft furs. Another pair seemed to shuffle behind the first two, much quieter, and without the weight of the others. My eyes opened, though I found it hard to do when in so much pain, and I stared unseeingly at Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and Legolas. _What…?_

Questions were whispered – screamed, really – but I could not hear them. My consciousness faded in and out, the fever of pain taking me every now and again for slumber. While I rested, Boromir answered their questions to the best of his ability. Eventually, I could hear Elvish, soft like rain and wet on my arrow wound, and then only the sound of somebody breathing softly, in and out. I wanted to sit up, wanted to find somebody with news of Seth, but it hurt too much to stand. So I settled for opening my eyes, staring at the ceiling in confusion until I could actually remember where I was, and why. Then, I glanced to the other side of the cot to stare at the sleeping form of –

My eyes softened, and I smiled tenderly at him.

_Aragorn…_

At his neck, I noticed the purity ring I gifted to him after Aragorn and I confessed to each other. Reaching out, I carefully brushed his dark hair back from his face, letting gentle fingers touch his rough beard; it seemed to slowly be getting thicker again. I brushed them against the purity ring and his soft mouth next, smiling at his expression which, while lighter now, remained stubborn, even in sleep. His lips twitched, Elvish mumbled to someone, and I slowly moved to kiss him, pressing chapped lips to his.

Gray eyes opened immediately and connected to mine, burning with heated desires. Aragorn squeezed his hand, where it rested languidly at my waist, but I winced, the strength of his touch actually hurting me. Aragorn glanced apologetically from his hand to me. Worry flickered through his gaze.

"Hey, Aragorn," I tiredly said, turning to rest on my good side, the side without the arrow wound, and smiled sheepishly at him. He seemed to want to berate me, and I half expected him to start, but…something seemed to hold him back.

"I should have been there, with _you,_" Aragorn finally blurted, fisting his left hand in his tunic, just above his heart. Pain and fear warred in his eyes. "I promised that I would be there for you, and I _promised_ that I would keep you _safe, _but –"

"Aragorn," I interrupted him, "You're forgetting that you were needed _here,_ with Kind Théoden and the warriors. He may not like it, but Théoden _needs _advice from you. We would not have made it this far without your wisdom."

Sighing, Aragorn brushed his hair out of his gray eyes, apparently not wanting to discuss his importance, and asked, "However were you able to keep ahead of the Wargs?" Although fast, Wargs were undeniably stupid, and I told him so. Orcs, more so.

"Orion is much smarter than most warhorses," I explained, painting him a picture of the bravery the beautiful Blue Roan showed in the midst of that escape, "and followed after Seth and Aglæca when the Orcs showed. He avoided several of the arrows and managed to keep the Orcs busy by jumping over creeks and down the smaller cliffs. The Wargs couldn't keep up…"

Another moment passed, and then –

"Seth tried leading them to the river, where it would be harder to catch us, and much further from our camp," I slowly continued, the frightening memory sharpening in clarity with each passing second, "but I feared the Orcs and Wargs getting too close and turned around to start shooting arrows at them, to at least confuse the idiots." And I shrugged. "Several died because of it."

"You reckless girl," Aragorn breathed, fear whispering beneath his words, and reached out to gently pull his form and mine together, hugging me. He waited until I'd cuddled into his chest, head beneath his chin, and then released the breath in his chest, relaxing faintly the moment his form protectively hid mine from view. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Kiss me senseless?" I halfheartedly suggested, knowing that the Ranger would likely _beat me_ _senseless_, instead.

To my great surprise, however, Aragorn complied and roughly pressed his lips against mine, heat seeping into my cold veins for the first time in awhile. A grunt of desire escaped him, drawn out the moment I moved forward to press my sex against his. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of the tunic I vaguely remember Boromir shoving me in earlier, after Legolas and another healer worked to clean and seal the wound from the (thankfully) regular arrow. Warm fingers rested just above my sex. Gray eyes were on mine.

He pulled back with molten silver burning in his eyes, and I stared at him, dazed. "Wow…"

A small smirk teased his lips, but Aragorn did not say anything in response. Instead, Aragorn rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping from between his lips, and tightened his arms over me. We stayed like that for hours, drifting in and out of sleep, until I could stand without his aid. When I suspiciously questioned this quicker than average recovery, wondering how long it would last, Aragorn snorted at me and replied that Legolas would _hate_ to have his healing abilities questioned. I zipped it after that little warning. Didn't want to piss off the Elf!

Ever the worrywart, however, I shifted gears and voiced another concern. My eyes wide, fear brimming in their blue depths, I immediately asked, "What about – ?"

"Fear not. Your brother is fine," Aragorn gently assured, his lips pressed to my nose, washing the fears away. He waited until the panic receded and I could breathe normally again to add to his last sentence, helping immensely in easing my worries. "Seth is unharmed and should, in fact, be training with the others in preparation for the continuation of the journey tomorrow."

"Thank the Valar," I muttered, which Aragorn seemed to find most amusing, given his snicker of happiness. I playfully slapped his arm and then laughed with him. My laughter quieted, though, lost beneath whimpers or moans of pleasure. A hand slipped between my curved legs, and I sighed, "_…Aragorn…_"

More touches, all feather light and not enough to jar me _or_ my wound, whispered softly over my skin. Aragorn pressed kisses to my neck and cupped his hand gently over my rear, a small growl of pleasure hissing out when I ground against his hips. "You must stop, Samantha, lest I forget and take you now."

Hurriedly, I reassured him that I would not mind at all, but Aragorn cut me off with his lips. He finally retreated after another heated kiss, his lips sticking to mine a moment longer because of the saliva coating our parted lips. "Do not test me," Aragorn muttered, his stern voice sending shivers down my spine.

"Fine," I pouted, turning around and facing the other direction, pointedly ignoring his stunned expression. My arms were stretched out, hips curved softly beneath the tunic that ended at my rear, and I _thoughtfully_ pretended that I did not notice his erection pressing into my ass.

"Dammit, Samantha," Aragorn growled out through gritted teeth, his resolve nearly evaporating beneath the picture I presented in the hopes of him giving in and making love to me again. A hot breath whispered against me, and I shivered, which made Aragorn stiffen, his hand curiously reaching out to ghost over my erect nipples. He groaned.

"You will be the death of me," Aragorn grimly stated, but his stormy eyes were soft with heated affection, his hand slipping further down between my parted legs, moving my panties aside to explore the soft curls there.

Wickedly, I smiled at him, mischief glimmering in my eyes, and playfully said, "We should probably stop, then!"

"Never," Aragorn declared, before descending again to take me.

And I let him.

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**GAH! ** Like I said in other stories I updated, I have been swamped with college stuff! I'm a **senior** now. _ It...is...killing...me!_

But I finally updated! I wanted to have them all relax in Edoras and talking about the Aragorn/Sammy situation, but my **muse** pulled the plug for that bright idea. So I decided to kind of incorporate their opinions - Seth's, Boromir's, Gimli's, and Legolas', I mean - into this chapter. **Many of you also asked that I do something to make Aragorn become more possessive and protective of Sammy!** So I did! More will happen to her (Sammy scowls at me) because I like protective!Aragorn. Yay! :D

**Question 1: ** I also added foreshadowing for something. Do you all know what it means, or should I just keep it for another cliffhanger? LOL

Oh! And I decided what will happen at the cliffs! I'm not telling, though, since that would ruin the surprise. ;)

**Question 2: **Do you want her Mom to show up soon? I have an idea, but... *Shrug*

_**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! :D**_

_Update at 445 reviews._


	35. Chapter 34: For Us

~Chapter Thirty Four~

For Us

_Silly Thoughts of Small Deeds;  
>Everything That Once Answered To Your Needs;<br>The Thoughtless But Kind,  
>The Caring But Blind.<em>

_For Your Love, I'm Sorry.  
>For Your Pain, Don't Worry.<br>Everything Fades Away._

_Don't Give Up._

_~Fade Away, _by Poets of the Fall

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"You will be the death of me," Aragorn grimly stated, but his stormy eyes were soft with heated affection, his hand slipping further down between my parted legs, moving my panties aside to explore the soft curls there.<strong>

**Wickedly, I smiled at him, mischief glimmering in my eyes, and playfully said, "We should probably stop, then!"**

**"Never," Aragorn declared, before descending again to take me.**

**And I let him.**

* * *

><p><em>Fourteen days…<em>

Honestly, I knew it should have seemed like forever, but at the moment, I did not think much of it in terms of length and time. I did not actively count the minutes, hours, days, and weeks until the Fellowship and I would reach Helms' Deep with the rest of the Rohirrim. Before, I would have groaned loudly in misery. I would have counted down the days until I could call it quits and head back to the college dorms again. Which had been small and noisy and…yeah.

If I had been expected to trek through the Wild two years ago without the necessities – books, technology, fast food, and bathrooms with _indoor plumbing_ – which could only be considered luxuries here, I would've turned right back around. I would not have cared who'd die if I left! Heels spinning, I would have bolted, leaving only dust in my wake. Back home, I mean. In Middle Earth, however…

I feared that there wasn't **enough** time.

_No time. No time. No time. _Brego continued to walk forward, steadily passing over grass, rock, and dirt without complaint, his dark brown head bobbing up and down in time to the beat of the thoughts whirring inside of me. _No time, no time, no time. _

"Relax, Samantha," A voice quietly whispered to me, its tone stern and completely at odds with the gentle nature of the speaker. Lips pressed themselves to my cheek and heat seared through me. I melted.

Sleepily, I leaned back into a pair of strong, warm arms, and curled further into the embrace of the Man seated directly at my rear. A strange churning in my stomach made it hard to find the most comfortable position in the saddle, and I shifted restlessly though his words were meant only to calm me. But I preferred to lean against him, his familiar smell in my nostrils and his body heat burning embers into my skin, and I found comfort in his close presence. I quickly burrowed into his protective warmth, loving that I could be shielded from the world by his stronger, taller body when it curled itself protectively around mine.

It was nice.

But…

"How could I possibly relax?" I mumbled into his chest, lips pressed to the expanse of skin that peeked out from between the flaps that created the collar of his black tunic. My small fingers stealthily lifted to pull at the strings that kept his tunic tied together. Though not for much longer! "Too much to worry over…"

Grunting, Aragorn pulled his left hand from the reins and gently removed the fingers I used to increase the amount of his skin visible to my eyes. His hand did not return to the reins; instead, the Ranger curled his arm over my waist, palm resting atop the back of mine, and lightly pressed its soft fingers with his own. A soft sigh whispered in my ear, and I turned halfway in the saddle to curiously stare at him, the picture of innocent confusion – head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed, and pink lips pulled down. He chuckled lightly at the concerned expression, and I pouted, folding both arms over my upset stomach again.

_Damn, I wish that this stomachache would leave because – really – do I __**look**__ like I have TUMS?_

"Worry not," Aragorn said, his lighthearted laugh fading beneath the weight of his seriousness, and then straightened in the saddle, back ramrod straight. "No harm will befall either of us."

"Jesus Christ, Aragorn! Ya can't promise me somethin' like that in the middle of this war!" I groaned, hands in the air and completely exasperated to the point that I slipped in reference to my own religion. Yep, I sounded like a redneck, too. Just like old times!

My lover paused, his expression now one of familiar brooding, and stated, "The Fellowship shall be fine, and I **will** protect you."

"Aragorn…" I sighed, his name warm on my tongue though I wanted to sound cold and annoyed.

Gray eyes were colder than the steel of his blade, and Aragorn darkly vowed, "This, I promise you, as your companion, protector, friend, and…" A soft growl of possessiveness purred low within his dark voice. "…lover."

My cheeks flamed brightly, dusted red with affection and lust, and I shyly glanced at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. We were in the midst of courtship, and had been for the last month, but I could not get enough of him, always longing for his naked skin on mine. Still, Aragorn and I'd only slept together twice. Our first time was in Edoras; the second, three weeks ago, in camp. We made love several times that day and well into the night. He was soft, gentle with me.

But I became restless and responded fiercely to his touch, begging him for more. Gently biting his lips and scratching at the muscles straining in his back as our orgasms screamed through us. Eventually, Aragorn became more passionate, his large, hot hands leaving bruises at my waist when the Man realized that I wouldn't break in half. His fingernails dug into my rear and left small scratches in their wake. But I didn't care.

No, I wanted to feel again, to remember that although I'd nearly died (again), I still lived here, in his arms, and in this world. Middle Earth. My world. Our **home.**

A home that I wanted to_ fight_ for…

_I will protect you._

My spirit roared through veins, and I wanted to demand that I be left to fend for myself, but I could not speak up. I was now accustomed to being responsible for myself because Seth, who used to look out for me, was gone as soon as we were seventeen. He had left to join the military and hadn't looked back once. I learned to look out for myself (translation: I would cook once in awhile and I bought pepper spray) while attending college 'cuz there were plenty of stalkers and rapists running around the bustling campus; however, before then, I had only been responsible for my own wellbeing maybe ten to fifteen times before that horrible year.

It always revolved around the same issue, too –

Sometimes, if Seth had slunk away, spending the night with some women, or was too drunk to know the difference in up and down, I cared for him, too. I cared for all of the horses back at the Ranch. I cared for the wild animals that hurt themselves and needed help to walk and fly again. I cared for the grass, plains, fields, bushes, and trees. I cared. Too much, Seth said…

Yes, I cared for others, mainly animals and plants, but I cared. However, I could not remember having someone older, stronger, and wiser wanting to protect _me_. After I returned with the nasty arrow wound, however, Aragorn could not stand leaving me alone. He was **always** there, always standing beside me now, a shadow (tall, dark, and handsome in every way) that warned others, especially Men, to keep their distance. My Ranger became increasingly protective – and possessive – of _me. _

An arm over my waist, hands to hips, fingers curled around mine, lips on my ear, my cheek, neck, shoulders, lips. Anywhere Aragorn could reach, and anytime that Aragorn could swing it, his hands and lips met mine with passion. He would hold and hug me. Caress me. Kiss me.

Because I was unaccustomed to it outside of the bedroom, I often shied off to the side at first, which hurt his feelings and caused conflicting emotions to stir inside of me. Legolas, who could tell that I struggled with the confusion, gently asked if perhaps affection scared me. He was, as usual, right. (_Don't tell him I admitted to it, either!_) It hurt to know that I still feared Daddy showing up and taking all of this happiness away. I would get over it eventually, though, because I wanted to move on and live – with Aragorn. _My Aragorn…_

So I started to deliberately search for Aragorn once my mind made the distinction between Daddy hitting me as a _punishment _and Aragorn touching me as a sweet display of his _affection._ I was incredibly embarrassed to talk about it, but I trusted Aragorn, and I finally explained to him what all went on as my childhood transitioned to adolescence and early adulthood. Seth and I suffered quite often from physical and mental abuse at the hands of "Daddy Dearest."

Quietly, I pulled him aside and hesitantly explained to the Ranger why I'd been afraid of him –

"_Please, Aragorn, I'm really trying here, and I promise to try harder, but…"_

"_What could possibly be stopping you? Do you regret entering into this courtship with me?"_

"_No! Never! But I…I'm scared that this is going to turn out like…like…Daddy…and I…"_

_Silence, during which Aragorn thoughtfully continued to smoke his pipe, and then – _

"…_you are afraid that I will become him."_

"…_yes."_

Thankfully, Aragorn did not hold these fears against me. Child abuse, while less common, was a possibility in Middle Earth. The Ranger had heard of such horrors in his travels and hated that a person could do that to his wife and children; Men should not abuse their families. He promised immediately, eyes warm and hand holding mine, that I should not fear him in that way. Ever.

No, Aragorn wouldn't deliberately harm Women, least of all his _own._ While I did know that to be true, I still needed to hear him promise the same. It seemed silly, but I needed to **hear **him speak the words and promise that his children and I would not suffer through that abuse. My lover cautiously started to physically show his affections again, this time through the gentle touches of his fingers to mine, kisses to the cheek. Softer than butterflies…

This time, I let him.

Aragorn and I quickly discovered through these interactions that I **loved** being touched – the hugs especially made me smile – and it became quite normal to find comfort in the other. I did not venture far from Aragorn, and Aragorn refused to be parted from me, either. We were seen _very rarely_ without the other. King Théoden and Boromir noticed this closeness, like most, but actually addressed it by pulling Aragorn aside to speak to him in the privacy of the Royal Tent.

Curiously, I asked him what had been discussed between the three, but Aragorn remained silent, completely tightlipped. I begged, I pleaded, I coerced. Hell, I tried seduction! (It did not reveal anything, but in the end, Aragorn and I made love for the third time). No matter how hard I tried, however, Aragorn pretended not to know the answer. Crazy old Ranger…

My answer came soon enough, though, because a week later, Aragorn calmly announced his courtship with me. I practically fainted from shock because, in all honesty, I'd thought Aragorn might change his mind if I continued to stupidly question his love for me. My insecurities aside, I appreciated his willingness to make it official. The Rohirrim congratulated him, and Boromir was, oddly enough, ecstatic. Why? Because Gondor would live on!

_Damn Gondorian, _I fondly grumbled to myself. _First, I couldn't be anywhere __**close**__ to Aragorn because the Man would undoubtedly turn me into his unwilling broodmare. Now, however, Boromir keeps dropping hints about Princes and Princesses! Idiot…_

After announcing the courtship, Aragorn became even sweeter, if not _overbearing,_ and made it his priority to keep me safe and happy – whenever possible, anyway. Meaning that if I mumbled something about missing the library, books or parchments would mysteriously appear in the tent, and if I wanted to sleep in, Aragorn would wait until the last possible minute to wake me up. He still bitched at me and made certain that I trained regularly, though; with the Prince, I practiced the bow, and with Wizard, I learned about Magic. Arrows and fireballs hit nearly half of the makeshift targets now!

So while I wasn't the _best_ warrior around, I could certainly defend myself and hold out against enemies, at least until reinforcements came.

Maybe…

Regardless of this improvement, Aragorn would hover if I wanted to speak with someone, more so if that somebody wasn't part of the Fellowship of the Ring. When I became restless, I left the tent Aragorn and I shared in search of King Théoden, Eowyn, and Seth to ask if I could help out. If I wandered too far off – in _his_ opinion, anyway – the Ranger quickly appeared beside me. He always seemed to materialize out of thin air, too! Seriously!

"How the fuck is that possible?" I muttered in annoyance, arms over my chest, and swayed side to side with the occasional rocking caused by Brego walking swiftly down the trail. "Bloody Ranger…"

"You certainly know how to make my ears cry and bleed, Samantha," Boromir dryly stated, his warm gray eyes meeting mine from the three feet of distance in between his horse – well, Orion was _mine,_ but the Gondorian promised to ride him since Aragorn insisted that I stay with **him** – and Brego.

"Sorry, Boromir," I mumbled. However, I did not really feel apologetic, and only halfheartedly shrugged in response to his reprimand which, coupled with his annoyed expression, was usually enough to make me squirm in guilt. Couldn't quite bring myself to feel too terrible, though…

My Guardian noticed this apathetic response and frowned, his lips weighted with concern. He gently brushed his fingers against mine as we continued down the path of dry, brown grass our companions and the Rohirrim beat down with boots, hooves, and cart wheels. I smiled at him, but it did not reach to my eyes, and convinced him of nothing. Mischief gleamed in his eyes. Slowly, Boromir smirked – first, at Aragorn, and then, at me.

"Honestly, I cannot believe that you are so uncouth," Boromir happily continued, his stern voice a complete contrast to the teasing glow of his light gray eyes. "Imagine, as you will, the Queen of Gondor stomping down the streets and hissing such nasty words at her people."

"Kiss my ass," I quipped and pointedly stared at him from beneath raised eyebrows, to which the Gondorian slapped his knee and barked in laughter.

"No, thank you," My Guardian replied, his smirk entirely too cheeky to be good. "I believe it best to leave that to Aragorn, given his fondness for touching that particular part of his _'sweet little one.'_ He might feel threatened if I touched what is his!"

Oddly enough, Aragorn inhaled sharply at the insinuation and blushed, his tan skin reddening in embarrassment – which I found _completely_ adorable. He glared darkly at Boromir, beyond mad, and muttered to himself in quiet Elvish. While Boromir and I did not understand anything said by the Ranger in the next fifteen or so seconds, I believe that we could be certain that it – whatever **it** might be – was rude. Incredibly so!

How did I know? Because Legolas laughed. _That_ – I mused quietly – _is __**never **__a good sign._

"A sweet young woman, corrupted by the lustful mind of the Ranger that saved her from the Wild," Boromir continued and sighed wistfully, scratching at the scruff of his beard. "It makes for a wonderful bedtime story to frighten little girls into chastity." He smiled and turned to another Man. "What say you?"

"Bite me!" I cried, before reaching out to playfully slap at his round shoulder, hoping to all that was good and holy that it actually _hurt_ the annoying Man. Alas, I only managed to cause my palm to sting and his mouth to erupt with laughter. _Grrr…_

The Gondorian continued to laugh brightly and pointed to the small collection of love bites on my neck, which I desperately tried to cover as a nearby Woman stared at us. "Again, I shall leave that to your overzealous lover!" Boromir cheerfully responded without a care.

Embarrassed, I attempted to hit him again. Boromir snickered gleefully at the pitiful amount of force behind that smack and responded in kind, his hand sneaking out to ruffle the (stupid, thick) hair that fell into my eyes. My counterattack – which consisted of nearly leaping right out of the saddle to strangle him – was enough to startle Aragorn, who immediately growled at both of us. The Gondorian positively **roared** with laughter as a continual stream of scolding words left Aragorn and attacked the wounded appendages that I used to refer to as my ears.

"You are endangering yourself and others with this foolhardy behavior, Samantha! What if I had not noticed and caught you?" Aragorn reprimanded – loudly enough that nearby Men and Women (and the damn Elf prancing twenty five feet in front of us) could hear. Everyone smirked at us.

_Then I would have fallen on my ass which, Boromir believes, is something that you'd __**like**__ to see!_

"Honestly, I wish that you would consider the consequences of these actions before committing to such misbehavior," Aragorn continued to bulldoze over my young age and experiences with his belittling words. Misbehavior? Really? Was I twenty one or one?

God, I couldn't take it anymore! Cheeks stained bright red with the embarrassment of being subjected to his overprotective streak in front of everybody else, I sweetly interrupted, "…Aragorn?"

My lover finally seemed to notice that the attention of everybody within hearing range was on us and smiled nervously at me. He cleared his throat, stalling for time, and hesitantly asked, "Yes, little one?"

"_Shut up!_" I quietly whispered to him, hissing through bared teeth and bristling with like a very wet and annoyed cat. My Ranger blinked at me and then bit back his smile of amusement, finding this reaction cute. I huffed and glared daggers at him for it, too. _Burn in Hell!_

"You tell him, Lass!" Gimli exclaimed, his head thrown back in laughter until his hair and beard became indistinguishable from the other. He wiped at the moisture in his eyes. "Just like the Dwarrowdams! She knows how to keep her One in line, this one!"

Laughter quickly ceased, however, because Hasufel slowed down and turned around to walk beside Brego and Orion. My horse, steered by Boromir, did not stay too much longer, leaving only Brego and Hasufel. My Guardian, who wished to stay behind and listen to the impending argument, dutifully – but reluctantly, I swear – marched the Blue Roan forward to speak to King Théoden, who called for him to head to the front of the line. The King of Rohan and the Son of Gondor quickly began discussing the remaining stretch of road – trail, really – to the fortress. From what I could hear, Boromir believed that it would take the rest of this afternoon and probably half of the next morning to reach Helm's Deep.

_War…_

"Thank you," I happily said (and blissfully ignored the fear of being that close to the fortress), chest puffed out with pride because – hey! Someone was actually _supportive_ of the whole I-Am-Woman-Hear-Me-Roar Campaign.

Granted, Eowyn and I were currently the only members of this imagined club, but…

"Wait, Lord Aragorn, Master Gimli! I wish to walk with you and Sammy," Eowyn cried, her soft but undeniably warm and strong presence seemingly summoned by these thoughts. She swiftly gathered her dark skirts in her long, pale hands to run up and continue the rest of the journey beside us.

Yes, Eowyn was walking with the rest of the Rohirrim. My Twin offered her the chance to ride with him and Aglæca – the foul tempered beast – but the young woman politely declined. She preferred to stay in the back of the procession, walking side by side with the rest of her people (though said temper, shared by rider _and_ horse, might have had something to do with this decision). My eyes wandered from the pretty young woman and toward the hotheaded, handsome blonde that I loved and called Twin. He was, er, _moodier _than usual…

_Poor Seth, _I quietly thought, before smirking faintly in glee and thinking: _He actually has to __**work**__ to coerce a woman into his bed! Ha!_

"Good afternoon, Lady Eowyn," Gimli politely continued. He hummed in thought, his huge hand stroking the braids in his beard, brown eyes on the clouds above. "Where was…? Oh! Yes, Dwarrows and Dwarrowdams are nearly impossible to distinguish between so…"

Hearing the Dwarf trail off, Aragorn coughed into his fist and turned to the side, his lips pulling into an unrepentant grin. I laughingly smacked his arms. My lover shifted back around to wink down at me, our argument quickly forgotten, and then faced the front again. When Eowyn turned, lifting her thin eyebrows in his direction, Aragorn smirked deviously. He swiftly gestured to his strong chin, which lacked the definite length of beard that most Dwarves preferred, and whispered, "It is the beard, I hear!"

A soft snort escaped, but Eowyn bit back her laughter and scolded, "Hush! Master Gimli will hear you!" She immediately whirled back around to stare at the Dwarf, fascinated with his stories, which told of Dwarflings rising up out of the rock in Erebor and the Iron Hills.

_Oh! I'm going to have __**plenty **__of fun with this one…_

"Hey, Seth," I whispered teasingly, before reaching into the saddlebags to remove a piece of charcoal to chuck at the back of his head. Thankfully, I hit _him_ and not the other warriors surrounding him. My aim really **had** improved! Yes!

Grumbling, Seth rubbed the black dust from his hair and turned around to glare halfheartedly at his attacker – _moi_. "What the fuck, Twin?" My brother demanded, his cheeks puffed out in brotherly annoyance, and scowled at me. Kinda like when I used to steal his M&M's…

"You have competition!" I announced through small bursts of laughter, too amused to really think about how others might react to the mischief I would help create in another moment. Thumb pointed to Gimli, who continued to brag to Eowyn. My Twin glowered darkly.

When I burst into giggles, Aragorn bent down to whisper in my ear, and murmured, "Be nice, Samantha. You know better than to harass the wounded. It is not good for their health." Mischief gleamed in his stormy gray eyes.

Hearing the laughter in his voice, I could tell that Aragorn didn't mind the distraction and would actually like to join in. So I playfully responded, "Choices, choices! I have to ask, though – are ya referring to his poor mental health or perhaps his wounded dignity?"

My Ranger smirked, his hand reaching forward to tap my nose, and said, "Oh, I believe the latter is more applicable in this situation, given his frustrations, whereas the former is an illness occasionally shared with his little sister."

"Hey!" I vehemently protested, hands already slapping his thighs, which curled around mine as we continued to brush against each other while riding Brego. He only responded by smirking and pushing himself forward in the saddle to brush his front – and his manhood – against my rear. I blushed. "Uh…"

Up ahead, Legolas smiled brightly and held out what appeared to be the snake Seth discovered in his bedroll this morning. My Twin, hearing the faint hissing from the angry, captured creature, straightened in his saddle, jade green eyes on our shortest companion. Gimli, too enraptured in his storytelling, didn't notice the small serpent; his steed, however, was more observant, and Hasufel whickered loudly in distress. The brown stallion reared back, depositing a stunned Dwarf – _"Oi! Does this beast not have brakes?!"_ – upon grass.

Covering her mouth with her hands, Eowyn observed the fallen Dwarf with concern, and then unselfishly darted forward to help him. I easily slipped from the saddle, but not before kissing Aragorn and telling him that I would be back shortly. Gimli, Eowyn, and I spent another hour together, trading childhood stories and attempting to laugh off the dark shadows rising up and threatening to claim us. Seth quickly joined in the festivities because the Elf and Dwarf commenced throwing insults at each other.

"Aim higher," Legolas suggested to his shorter companion, taunting him because the Dwarf couldn't quite reach his shoulder to smack it with the handle of his short axe. "Although, I believe that it is impossible for you, so perhaps it would be best to retreat!"

Darkly, Gimli snarled at his chest because, well, that is where the Dwarf could reach. He was much shorter than the Elf and – because Legolas is Legolas – listened to his continued insults with growing ire. "Come down here and speak such words face to face!"

Eyes wide, I stared between the two and worried: _It looks like Gimli is going to attempt to murder the Prince of the Woodland Realms. That __**might**__ hinder relations between Lothlórien and Erebor. Maybe I should find Aragorn and Boromir? _

My Twin, however, could only slap his left hand to stomach in between fits of laughter. He clapped the other on my shoulder the moment I turned around to find the two aforementioned Men and wheezed, "Leave 'em alone, Sammy! This is too good to pass up on."

Legolas slowly leaned down to stare directly into the face of his adversary, which made Gimli pale somewhat, clearly not expecting the Elf Prince to listen to his demands. "'Aim higher, Dwarf,' I said," Legolas _kindly _repeated his insult.

Predictably, Gimli exploded in his rage and loudly bellowed, "_Du bekar! _We shall fight to the death! Pointy-eared, tree-shagging bastard…!"

My mouth dropped wide open, unhinged by the shock of seeing this spectacle before me, a response that made Seth laugh all the harder. Eowyn, who continued to walk beside us, only rolled her chocolate brown eyes and smiled at the slowly darkening skies above us. I bit back laughter at her expense. She feigned exasperation, true, but I could tell that the other Woman was also incredibly amused with the entire situation. Especially Seth. She loved Seth. _Me, too…_

"Dear me," Eowyn said, her voice slow and dry, much like that of her Uncle, King Théoden. A soft sigh escaped from between her parted lips, and the Woman murmured, "We will have two less companions to feed –" Here, Seth and I shuddered at the thought. "– at this rate."

Admittedly, Seth and I stared at her in surprise, but Eowyn stared back at us in amusement, and laughter filled the air. Most Men and Women glared darkly at the sound, feeling mocked by the happiness of others – us – in the midst of this crisis. Some, however, smiled kindly at us, an understanding light in their eyes. We continued to laugh for one reason, you see…

Glancing around, I could practically smell it in the air, and I shivered, feeling chilled to the bone.

…_Everyone is scared._

"Well, I have offered aid to those cooking for the masses," Eowyn finally continued, her voice more subdued this time, and smiled faintly at my older brother. "Have you and Sammy eaten anything, Lord Seth?"

"Oh, Sammy and I had beef stew earlier, with the cheese bread," Seth hastily reassured her, which – according to the soft growling of his stomach – could only be the worst lie in the world. She glanced to me, and Seth shoved his elbow into my ribcage; I nodded frantically at her.

"Good evening, then," Eowyn sweetly said and curtsied to the two of us. She departed quickly in search of the cooks, her determination to help sweet but ruined by the fact that her – uh, _food _could actually serve as rat poison.

"Thank God," I muttered, before walking off to the other side of the camp, my arms over my chest to ward off the chill of night. I remembered Aragorn trying her soup and, this time, I shivered out of fear. "I actually thought Eowyn was going to force her Stew Surprise on us –_again._"

"We might have survived that round," My brother grumbled while sympathetically rubbing his protesting stomach in circles, "but I could still do with some warm grub and couple of tankards of ale…"

"We could always ask Aragorn if there's anything left from lunch," I lightly suggested, before shrugging at his strange expression, and explained, "Legolas has been forcing food onto me – seriously, the Elf is freakin' _obsessed_ – and Aragorn stores whatever I can't eat."

"Sounds good to me," Seth finally said, clearly attempting **not** to mentally picture the Ranger and his little sister in the same vicinity. We were, essentially, living together in that tent.

"Come on!" I laughed, while pushing him in the middle of his back and cheerfully guiding him to the section of tents being used by the Fellowship. Of course, Seth deliberately made himself heavier, and it became hard to support his weight while searching for Aragorn. So…I let him fall!

"Dammit, Sammy!"

I laughed.

In the end, Seth and managed to find him because I returned to where I last remembered seeing and hearing the Ranger. We made our way over a series of odd, makeshift campsites, with tents and fires, and through countless throngs of chatting people – man, woman, and child – until I could hear his gentle laughter singing above other voices. It called out to me. _Little lover…_

While I wanted to walk forward to great Aragorn, Seth fisted his fingers in my collar, and tugged backwards, his strength outmatching my own. He pointed silently in the direction of the largest of the four tents. In confusion, I stared at the Man that I loved – Aragorn, I noticed with relief, appeared to be at peace and had taken to lounging beside the campfire, his pipe in between his lips. A small smile claimed his lips in response to whatever the King of Rohan said to him.

"What are you…?" I quietly asked, but Seth made another frantic motion to stop whispering and then walked another rock to hide behind the closest tent, only peeking out when I made my way over.

Hiding behind the tent, Seth and I listened closely to the words spoken between the two because, for some reason, my crazed brother thought it might be important. He seemed happy enough listening in, but I thought of the generosity of both Men and immediately regretted eavesdropping. _Okay! Not __**really,**__ but –_

"You will have little time for yourself, Lord Aragorn," King Théoden mused, his smile full of good cheer because of the laughter exhibited by his niece, who continued to spend time with Gimli, "if you and Lady Samantha continue this way."

My brother slowly turned to glare down at me and darkly grumbled, "You damn well better be using protection with that old pervert, Twin." Green eyes were now on my stomach, which I protectively shielded from his view.

"Shut it, Seth!" I hissed at him through clenched teeth, but after another minute of thought, I smiled sweetly at him and hummed, "At least _I _have a need for protection! Others are not fortunate enough, I've heard…"

"Jesus! Who asked for yer opinion, anyway?" Seth flushed in embarrassment, his face partially hidden behind the long hair that had slowly grown out and down to brush his cheekbones. He huffed in annoyance as my attention returned to Aragorn.

"True," Aragorn bashfully admitted, his quiet admission followed by a small, playful smile, "but I believe that Lord Seth and Lady Eowyn –" Seth yelped faintly. "– will certainly be good competition in that regard, King Théoden."

Slowly, I turned to smirk at him, but I said nothing because Seth could obviously figure out what I meant by the dark eyes and naughty smile. As expected, Seth pushed his shoulder against mine and smirked when I fell to my rump. Another laugh escaped the pair seated around the small campfire, the sound of joy bright and happy in this time of darkness. My Twin and I quickly turned back to the King of Rohan and the future King of Gondor.

"Children will fill the halls of Gondor and Rohan once more," Théoden laughed cheerfully and reached out to clap the Ranger across a shoulder, his hand beating against his muscular back in male comradery.

_Children…?_

Blushing, I placed both hands over my stomach, which continued to swirl around with anxiety – yes,_ anxiety._ It could be nothing else! Not morning sickness! Nope! My nerves were simply going haywire because of the fears that I harbored for the upcoming events – scouts would stumble into danger, Wargs would crash the party, and all Hell would break free.

_**Have Faith, Samantha.**_

…_Manwë?_

"My King," Aragorn politely interrupted his good cheer with worry and fear regarding the bleak uncertainty of this bright future that the King of Rohan wished to paint, "We must first win this war and guarantee the safety of Ladies Samantha and Eowyn."

The King of Rohan remained silent for another moment, (rare) good mood vanishing, and then firmly said, "We **will** win, Lord Aragorn, because these young women and their children – our children and grandchildren – depend solely on us. It is the duty of warriors to protect their precious ones." He stared directly into his eyes. "We must fight for their happiness."

"Of course, I will fight for you and for those that cannot defend themselves," Aragorn solemnly stated. His fingers trailed to his neck, where his keepsake – once mine – continued to rest beside his heart. He touched the small golden ring and smiled faintly with affection brimming in his eyes. "…and I will fight for _her._"

"What shall happen if Lady Samantha is lost to us?" King Théoden quietly asked; his voice was wary and concerned about the wellbeing of his people because, if Aragorn left, then the Fellowship would follow in his wake.

"Honestly, I do not know, King Théoden," Aragorn softly responded to him, his stormy eyes warm and thoughtful in the glow of the campfire, which bathed his tan face in hues of red – blood red. "Somehow, I cannot quite picture the future without her standing beside me anymore..."

Heart in my eyes, ears, and throat, I blinked back tears and clutched at the tunic over my chest. I breathed in and, in the next exhale, I desperately whispered, "Oh, Aragorn, I love you so much, and I will always, _always_ be here for you. We _will_ win this war!"

My Twin wordlessly placed his hand in mine.

"We have to…"

_For us._

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Okay! Here is the update I promised! It is three days late because I'm sick - yes, again. Always happens to me in March and April...

So! ** Lighthearted humor** before the next chapter, which takes place at the cliffs! **It will darker, much darker,** and I wanted to show a more emotional bond - the improvement, if your will - in the relationship between the Fellowship in this chapter. Friendships have been forged through battle. These friendships will be tested next few chapters because, well, **Sammy can't really resist meddling** in the affairs of _The Lord of the Rings. _;)

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it and I will have the next chapter up sometime next week because it is already halfway done!

Thanks again for all the awesome reviews, alerts, follows, and favorites! You're all wonderful!

_**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! :D**_

_Update at 465 reviews._


	36. Chapter 35: For You

~Chapter Thirty Five~

For You

_I've Got This Passion;  
>It's Something I Can't Describe.<br>It's So Electric; It's Like I've Just Come Alive.  
>I Feel This Freedom, Now That My Past Is Erased.<br>I Feel The Healing; I Found The Meaning Of Grace._

_If Only You Could See Me Yesterday,  
>Who I Used To Be Before The Change.<br>You'd See A Broken Heart;  
>You'd See The Battle Scars.<em>

_It's Funny How Words Can't Explain,  
>How Good It Feels To Finally Break the Chains.<br>I'm Not What I Have Done;  
>I'm What I've Overcome.<em>

_I Know I'll Stumble.  
>I Know I'll Still Face Defeat.<br>These Second Chances Will Define Me._

_I'll Make Mistakes,  
>And I Might Fall.<em>

_But I Won't Break._

_~Overcome, _by Fireflight

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"What shall happen if Lady Samantha is lost to us?" King Théoden quietly asked; his voice was wary and concerned about the wellbeing of his people because, if Aragorn left, then the Fellowship would follow in his wake.<strong>

**"Honestly, I do not know, King Théoden," Aragorn softly responded to him, his stormy eyes warm and thoughtful in the glow of the campfire, which bathed his tan face in hues of red – blood red. "Somehow, I cannot quite picture the future without her standing beside me anymore..."**

**Heart in my eyes, ears, and throat, I blinked back tears and clutched at the tunic over my chest. I breathed in and, in the next exhale, I desperately whispered, "Oh, Aragorn, I love you so much, and I will always, _always_ be here for you. We _will_ win this war!"**

**My Twin wordlessly placed his hand in mine.**

**"We have to…"**

**_For us._**

* * *

><p><em>Samantha…<em>

Red irises glared down at me, a cold fury simmering in their heartless depths, burning hotter than fire and yet colder than ice. My heart clenched in stark fear, and I tried to take another step back into the light, the sunshine that I could feel just beyond the brush of ten fingertips stretched out to the sun. All I could make contact with, however, was a very cold and brutal darkness, which reached out to claim me. My soul; I could tell the Daemon wanted to steal it, to consume me, and leave nothing but bones and ash. And I –

Everything! I lost _everything_! My precarious footing ripped out from under me an instant later – falling, diving, soaring from the edge of the cliff – and I reached out for Heaven, trembling, hands outstretched. Instead, I fell into cold, skeletal hands.

…HIS hands…

_**DEATH IS HERE.**_

_You might have escaped the cold embrace of Death the first time, and perhaps the second, but in the end, I will have you. _Death smiled unkindly, his hands brushing through the bloodied hair that clung to my eyes, which stared unseeingly into his, and the lips that silently turned blue. _You are __**mine,**__ Samantha May Steel. _

Eyes of sky blue opened wide, and I stumbled through the familiar motions of the releasing the blankets from snow white knuckles and inhaling the next few breaths, feeling sick and tired and too disoriented to know the difference between down or up. I reached for the cold lips that I still vividly remembered turning blue, bluer than the ocean, and whimpered in relief because I could feel them, dry and chapped and _hot. _My brain sluggishly processed this information – _not dead, not dead, not dead, dead, dead _– and caught up as my memories siphoned from the nightmares. Fact, fiction, and fantasy.

Slowly, I slipped back into the empty warmth of the blankets. My heart calmed. My stomach settled. I subconsciously listened to the physical signs, to the slower breathing and gentled pulse, but I could hear it, and I shivered all the same. I sensed the presence of another nameless entity, lingering where it should not be. A familiar hand – small and delicate, but comforting all the same – was over mine in the next moment, warding the creature away. It gently whispered: _Safe._

Wind curled the flap of the tent to the side, and I shifted restlessly, face half turned to the beauty of the falling crescent moon. I clutched the smaller hand between both of mine, desperate to have that tiny semblance of safety, imagined though it might be, and _breathed._ My breath whispered out from between parted lips. "Thank you."

A soft series of quiet breaths whistled through the air, all brushing softly against my nose and cheeks with less weight than the cold, dark breeze that flitted in through the tent flaps, but with the bite of frost all the same. My charge, Freda, shifted until her shoulder touched mine, and I relaxed into the touch of her hand atop mine. She continued to inhale and exhale, her chest rising with the breaths caressing my cool skin. I shivered, fighting the urge – the need – to burrow further into the moth-eaten quilts wrapped around her shoulders and mine, and I stealthily climbed out from within the bedroll, instead. Her hand dropped. **Empty.**

…_I feel empty._

"Good morning, Freda," I whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss the forehead of the girl that I considered to be a younger sister. My expression softened at the sight of her sweet smile, which widened into a yawn as my charge began to dress, before I turned to face her older brother, Ѐothain.

Young Ѐothain whined softly in his sleep, shifting restlessly, face contorted in stark fear of the nameless entities that chased him in his dreams. I softly ran a pinky finger down his cheekbones, hoping to calm him somewhat, and secretly marveled that this boy, with his ancient eyes, could have such soft skin protecting his old soul. But Ѐothain continued to squirm until I succumbed to instinct and brushed gentle hands through his windswept hair, which continued to grow in length and overtake his thinning face. He settled quickly into peaceful sleep, and I smiled because this must be something his Mother did quite often to comfort him. I frowned. A Mother…

_What would it be like to have one? _My heart hurt, and I inhaled desperately through the silence, the thudding pain within, to recollect myself. _Would I be different than I am now? Would Seth and I still be here, in Middle Earth? Would –_

"Papa," Ѐothain whispered brokenly, his brow furrowed in concentration, hands reaching out for someone, someone incredibly special – and lost to him. "Where are you? Where? _Papa…!_"

_**Death stole something from us.**_

"…Would Daddy love us…?"

_**No.**_

Silently, I stared into nothingness, questions frozen between teeth that chattered faintly from the cold of the early morning air. No one would have answered, the truth hidden beneath space and time, but I still yearned to release the questions from their icy grave. My heart might have hurt less, and I –

"Breakfast, Ѐothain," I murmured into his hair, lips pressed to the top of his head because it felt…_right. _My heartache eased, if only enough to make it easier to smile, and smile I did when the boy stumbled out of his bedroll and into his only extra – and clean – set of clothing. He blinked sleepily at me.

"What time is it, Mama?" Ѐothain tiredly asked the innocent question that would, to him, have been said without the intention of hurting me. It did hurt, though, and I could not help but find it hurtful when the boy – young man, really – flushed in embarrassment and apologized quickly to me. "Sorry, Lady Sammy…"

Smile wide, fake, and altogether too sweet, I brushed their comb through his tussled hair and then turned to help Freda with hers, taking the time to gently remove a mess of tangles from her long hair. I mumbled something nonsensical, something about it being fine and not to sweat it, which confused the two children beyond their comprehension, and then I mindlessly muddled through the rest of the usual morning routine. We dressed, brushed the comb through hair, mindful of its broken teeth, washed dirty faces with dirty cloths, and hurried to the main campfire, where a meager and relatively tasteless breakfast would be served by Eowyn.

Today, however, I skipped the last step, instead sending Ѐothain and Freda ahead to claim their breakfast before the warriors arrived for seconds, and sometimes thirds. I wasn't really hungry in the mornings anymore, and although I usually went with the children, I pretended to eat and then passed the food off to them. If Legolas wasn't staring at me, anyway…

Me? I could handle skipping meals every now and then because, well – let's face it. _I'm used to it…_

My charges, with their young and growing bodies, needed it much more. Both Ѐothain and Freda required the extra sustenance, the extra boost from the calories, to keep traveling at such reckless and breakneck speeds, especially since their dried meats would be eaten while walking – to Helm's Deep.

_Why does it feel like I'm fattening them up and sending them off to be slaughtered? In Helm's Deep. _Eyes closed, I inhaled sharply and swiftly corrected: _Hell. It sounds like __**Hell's**__ Deep…_

My face cracked in half; the stone mask I carved around it disintegrated the moment Ѐothain and Freda disappeared into the endless line of Rohirrim. I blindly snatched at the cloth satchels and outerwear, including the cloak Eowyn gave me, and pulled both on, my arms swiftly slipping in through the leather strap connected to the front of the satchels. I slowly stepped back from the bedroll, pulling myself out of the low crouch I rested in and into the standing position that I needed to vacate the tent. I left and the shadows, like children, began clinging to me.

"Time to find the others," I breathed. Heartbeat loud in my ears. Voice far too quiet in the loud and overwhelming hustle and bustle of the chaos that always preceded the packing and then the unpacking of camp.

The Rohirrim separated swiftly to let me pass, a sea of people that swirled around, and not in front of, me. Men politely inclined their heads, bowing low to me, and Women smiled kindly to me and curtsied. Children sweetly waved their small, skinny hands at me. Possibly, I surmised uneasily, because I'd claimed responsibility for both Ѐothain and Freda in the absence of their mother. People acted similarly in front of Eowyn, too. She devoted much of her time to the children. Nobody would otherwise bow and curtsy to the likes of _me._

…right?

"Lady Samantha!" Captain Brynn exclaimed from behind the mountain of sharpened swords in his arms. He passed the readied pile of weaponry over as another Man stepped forward to take them. "Lord Aragorn requested that I inform you of his whereabouts should I see you."

"Thank you very much, Captain," I gratefully said, listening to him ramble off the direction and turns that would lead to Aragorn. The Captain bowed at the waist and stalked off with purpose. I walked in the opposite direction with my own purpose. My smile faltered. _Purpose…?_

"Good morning, Samantha," A warm voice rumbled into my ear as someone moved from behind to touch me, and thumbs gently stroked the flesh beneath the tunic under which his battle hardened hands moved with familiarity. "I hope you and the children slept well."

Smiling shyly, I leaned into his touch and raised pink lips to be kissed, loving that his lips moved almost perfectly against mine. I kissed him once more. "Morning, Aragorn. We slept relatively well, all things considered, I guess. How 'bout you?"

"Well enough, though I missed the warmth of your touch," Aragorn breathed into the kiss, his mouth hovering over mine. Hands, rough and calloused, brushed through the soft hair at my nape.

Another kiss, which caused several of the Rohirrim Men to whistle teasingly, passed between us, and I blushingly mumbled, "So, Captain Brynn mentioned that I needed to search for you…?" I glanced at him through the curl of bangs that fell into my eyes.

"Yes, I…" My Ranger swallowed somewhat nervously, his throat moving up and down with the weight of his words, and Aragorn hesitantly said, "I have something I wish to speak of with you."

"What is it, Aragorn?" I asked, fearing the explanation behind his suddenly tense posture and solemn expression. My heart hammered against the tired bones firmly, tirelessly keeping it place. "Has anything happened to those in the Fellowship? What about Seth? I –"

Lips pushed against mine to halt the endless litany of words. Still, Aragorn smiled faintly in amusement, before pulling back to chuckle at me. "Worry not for the Fellowship, Samantha. We are all safe. Your brother, too, is…er, _relatively safe._"

"My brother is 'relatively safe,'" I warily repeated this last bit because of the strange phrasing and glared darkly at him through narrowed blue eyes, warning him to spit his explanation out before I became violent. "What exactly _is_ 'relatively safe,' Aragorn?"

Eyes dancing in laughter, Aragorn dryly stated, "Your brother is safe enough. Unless the Lady Eowyn has managed to ply him with her strange bread – heavy like bricks, it is – this morning, of course."

"Oh…" I stupidly said to him in response, to which Aragorn smirked in amusement, and then –

Laughter bubbled within, boiling like water, and then erupted to the surface. My face was open and bright and happy. And Aragorn smiled, too, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. Husky laughter mingled with my own. We continued to laugh, relieved to have actually something to laugh about at the moment, and stepped closer to each other, if possible. I hugged him around his waist – which, I noticed sadly, seemed thinner now – and kissed his tan neck. My lover tenderly rubbed his cheek against mine, and I giggled lightly at the sensation of his stubble brushing against the softer skin. In Elvish, Aragorn hummed sweet words into my ear.

Elvish, while beautiful, wasn't something that I could understand yet. My lover and I typically conversed in the Common Tongue because I could speak it. His Elvish heritage only whispered to the forefront of his mind during intimate interactions between us. Sex, I noticed, made him particularly romantic, and Elvish would rain down upon me. Certain phrases, like _I love you_, were now more easily recognizable, but the rest of the melodic language sounded only like instrumental music.

"Pretty," I softly murmured to myself. Because I did not understand the meaning behind the sweet melody, though, I stared straight into his stormy gray eyes and curiously asked, "What does it mean?"

"'Always know that I stay here, in between soul and heart, and do not fear, for we will not long be apart.'" My hands in his, Aragorn kissed their knuckles, which tightened with each passing word. We stared into the other's eyes. "What must I do to convince you to stay beside Lady Eowyn and with the rest of the Women?"

Emotions whirled around inside like the winds of hurricanes, but I did not speak up. I was angry, very angry, and yet I could not bring myself to tell him that nothing would convince me –ever. My heart ached at the sound of his voice, at the desperation which colored his voice bleak and low and sad. So I continued to walk in silence, between Brego and Aragorn, until I could find the words that I needed to express my _own_ concerns.

_What if something happens that I could prevent? What if somebody gets hurt? What if…_

"Shouldn't I stay with **you**?" I carefully asked, fearing the worst. Fearing that if I separated from the others, from Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli, that something terrible and irrevocable might happen to the people that I cared about.

A picture of the cliffs, of Aragorn falling, flashed before my eyes.

…_What if I __**lose**__ you?_

"While I would love to have you near me at all times, I do not believe that I could properly fight if I feel concerned for your safety and wellbeing, little one," Aragorn explained, his words also careful, and brushed his fingers over my nose.

Pouting, I petulantly crossed both arms over my chest and mumbled, "You fight exceptionally _well _for the old Ranger that you are…"

"Thank you," Aragorn dryly said, but I remained stubbornly set against listening to him for the moment, and the Man sighed in exasperation, his expression becoming equally stubborn in its set. A growl rumbled in his chest. "Samantha! Do not make me carry you into the Caves!"

My mouth dropped, hanging at the hinges with the shock that Aragorn would actually _threaten_ to _carry me_ to the Caves. The Ranger, while much older, could certainly do so. He was strong and muscled, with the determination and stubbornness needed to match my own. Somebody smaller, like myself, would stand little hope in successfully running from the lean Man and fighting him off. Then, I instantly imagined him chasing me, my smaller form suddenly tossed into the air and curled around his shoulder, legs kicking to get away. No chance. None. Nope…

Blushing madly, I backed off to push halfheartedly at his chest and hissed, "You wouldn't dare, Aragorn, Son of Arathorn!"

My hands were captured between both of his, and I stared straight into his eyes. He slowly smirked down at me, a warm gleam of mischief whispering in their molten silver depths, and his tan face lowered to brush together our noses and lips. Breath trembled from within me. Another thought, of his large hand reaching up and cupping my rear, made it hard to stand still. My belly and cheeks bubbled with warmth at the thought of his hands on me.

"What naughty thoughts paint this pretty blush for me?" Aragorn huskily whispered to me as my mouth trembled against his in want, in desire, and the legs that tried to keep me up and standing began to falter. "Does the thought of being in my arms warm you?" He nosed the pulse beating erratically in my neck. "Your heart; it beats swiftly. Does it wish to be at my mercy? Do you?"

"Oh, God," I mumbled, before stumbling out of his arms and whirling around to walk along the side of the line which, in retrospect, made it much easier for him to corner me. I hastened to back away as my mischievous lover leisurely followed behind me. Nervously, I barked, "Dammit, Aragorn! Stay the fuck away!" He reached for me. "Oi –!"

My Ranger ignored the undignified yelp that I released when his hand connected lightly to my rear, and it remained there in the shock that followed this gentle spanking. Embarrassment made it hard to stutter anything other than a couple of _Oh, Gods, _and I prayed to them in that moment that nobody had witnessed that little love tap Aragorn had just given me – on my _ass. _Seriously! What…the…fuck?!

"Do not dare defy me," Aragorn said softly; the spark in his eyes was a warning to be good, with the promise that good girls would be well rewarded, and I shivered. "You are my concern, my responsibility, and I will do everything in my power so you remain safe."

How to respond? My mind made little sense. _I _made little sense. My inner feminist grumbled in frustration – and defeat – but the romantic in me was overcome with happiness that Aragorn cared that much for me. So I settled with fighting off another blush, staring at him with the sweetest smile that I could muster, and –

"Okay," I simply said in agreement, his words making sense enough that I could not, in good conscious, argue. I only wanted him safe; if Aragorn claimed I would distract him, then chances were my presence would make him careless and put him in danger. "Yeah, I'll stay behind, with Eowyn, and help her keep everybody else calm."

My lover, who had opened his mouth to undoubtedly respond in kind to whatever argument I spewed at him in the hopes of tagging along, faltered and blinked down at me. Aragorn hesitantly questioned, "Y-You will stay in the Caves?"

A small shrug of the shoulders answered him this time. "Ѐothain and Freda will be afraid to be left alone, and I need to help them find their mother," I explained, though the explanation only covered half of the truth, half of what I wished to say.

"Thank you," Aragorn breathed, his face buried in a wave of soft hair, and kissed the top of the head that I lifted to smile sadly at him. To him, I only whispered, "You're welcome."

So much else I had wanted to whisper: _Beautiful, inside and out. __You are so strong. __**I love you.**_

Everything that I wanted to tell him – how much I loved him, how much I appreciated his protection **and** his concern – was never voiced, though, at least not in that moment. My words, stolen, vanished beneath the threatening howl of Death. An Orc squealed out in protest because Captain Brynn and Legolas charged forward to attack him and his companions. Arrows whistled through the air, sinking into tender flesh with ease. A sword accompanied the arrows and made quick work of the Orc Scouts.

Immediately, Aragorn removed his hand from my person and darted forward to meet his friend, handsome face determined, though panic flickered in his eyes. A soft pant escaped with his breath, but the Ranger clearly asked, "What is happening, Legolas?"

"A Scout," Legolas grimly informed him, with his hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of the sword that remained buried in the dark, broken corpse. He removed it efficiently, if not too quickly because of the resulting squelch of metal and blood, and snarled silently in disgust. "Other Orcs will have heard his cry. We must move! Quickly…!"

The Ranger whirled around without further words and returned to us. Although I remembered vividly what happened in this part of the book and the movie, I could not understand anything through the whispers and the fear pounding inside my eyes, and chest, and veins. My teeth throbbed with the hot blood – and the cold, icy fear – that rushed through me.

Hand at his sword, Aragorn raised his voice and strongly called, "We are under attack!"

Chaos erupted; King Théoden barked orders. Men grabbed their weapons and their shields; Women screamed in fear; and Children cried out for their parents, half of whom left to defend their families. The Riders, the few that yet remained through the tyranny of Gríma Wormtongue, climbed into the saddles of their Warhorses and galloped to the front of the line. A flash of golden blonde hair, green eyes, and his sword, Bone Biter. My brother was one. Seth…

A hand grabbed the strings that tied shut the cloak I wore. My mouth, opened in surprise, was soon wet, hot beneath the strong and bruising kiss that Aragorn seared into me. He buried his tan face into my warm, golden hair, but I could not feel the weight of his lips, which pressed another soft kiss to my crown. Words, all in the Common Tongue, were spoken. It did not matter; I still did not understand him. Because I could not hear him through the screaming, the roaring of the wind, and the cries of War.

_War stole something from me. _

"Come, Sammy!" My friend, Eowyn, cried through the chaos that surrounded her people, her friends and mine. "We must make haste to Helm's Deep! It is the only way! We must go!" I stayed, standing motionless, and watched Aragorn mount his horse and ride away. A scream ripped through her – through me. "_Samantha!_"

Electricity jumped from my eyes. Magic exploded from with me, my eyes, mouth, and skin glowing with the blue light of the Blue Wizard. Musical notes. See, I could hear, and I could touch, and I could feel the music inside of me, a war of treble and bass and the cries of heavenly voices._ I've got this passion; it's something I can't describe. It's so electric; it's like I've just come alive. _

Whirling around, I calmly and instinctively whipped both hands upwards to channel the magic inside of myself and form the fireball in the middle of their palms. I distantly heard the cries of Ѐothain and Freda, who clung tightly to my jeans, and the pleas of Eowyn, but I paid them little mind. The Rohirrim continued to scream and panic and retreat to the shadows that encircled the sanctuary of Helm's Deep. None of that mattered right at that particular moment. My main concern now was to end the miserable lives of this Creature. _I feel this freedom. My past is erased. I'm alive. _

Death smiled darkly at me, and I stared calmly back, disinterested in anything that the Beast might wish to speak of with us. I did not wait for him to speak, to taunt and provoke and belittle. I did not wait to hear him speak the words – _Weak, Stupid, Ugly_ – that **used** to define me. _I feel the healing. I've found the meaning of grace. My past is erased. And I'm alive. _No, I did not because I could feel that I wasn't anything but strong, and smart, and beautiful to those that would love me. **Aragorn.**

Magic roared through the abyss that surrounded both of us. _Out of the ground, I rise to grace._ "You will not have him," I solemnly declared through the silent whimpers of Ѐothain and Freda, through the harsh breathing of Eowyn, and through the strength that defined the **new** me.

Critically, Death eyed the three courageous people that refused to abandon me. He sniffed disdainfully, finding the three lacking in worth, and lowered his scythe from its perch atop his bony shoulder to point it at me – _us._ I shouldered in front of the three, blindly removing hands and legs from around the limbs I needed to fight with, and aimed another fireball at the Beast. I refused to wait for him to make the first move; my palms, steady and strong, shot the magic out and towards him without preamble. He would **not** win.

_Death stole something from me._

"Eowyn," I called to her through the haze, the focused and unfocused concentration needed to battle another, but I did not turn to her for fear of being wounded. "Take Ѐothain and Freda! You need to leave and lead the Rohirrim!"

Desperately, Eowyn tried to run over as my person was moved to the side by the staff of the scythe, but another swipe sent her tumbling backwards. She stared at me, eyes wide, and tearfully cried, "No! I will not leave you!"

"Dammit, Eowyn," I snarled, hitting the scythe with the tip of the scythe to unbalance him and using the right palm to send another fireball, which seemed to grow smaller and smaller in size, to force him into retreat. "Everyone _needs_ you! The Rohirrim need you! Ѐothain and Freda need you!"

"YOU need me!" Eowyn screamed through the tears that rained down her pretty, pale face. My friend, with all of the strength and determination in her beautiful soul, charged forward to tackle Death.

Frozen, I could only stare at Death, who slowly reclaimed his full height and towered high above her, above Eowyn, at eight feet tall. My friend groaned quietly, her head in her hands, and lifted it to face the dark and demonic smile of the Beast. She trembled, body shivering with fear and the cold of the wind that nipped at her bare hands and neck. Arms wrapped tightly around her terrified form, Eowyn waited, weaponless and completely terrified, for her Fate.

"Your time is up," Death chillingly intoned, his voice numb, colder than ice – and the metal of the scythe that screamed hauntingly through the air to meet the scared, defenseless young woman. "**Die**, Eowyn of Rohan!"

A single tear trailed down her cheek, falling to the grass, and then, Eowyn whispered, "_Seth…_"

"NO!" I shrieked, before I moved, from here to there, in the timeframe of perhaps ten seconds.

In the midst of everything, I distantly wondered how I could possibly meet him – Death – and the swing of his scythe with such speed. Months from now, when the single question haunted everything within, however, I would remember him. I would hear him speaking deep from within me –

_**Left, right, swing, dodge, run, move, jump, left, left, counter, right, dodge, turn, twist, charge. **_

Head to head, toe to toe, I met him blow for blow, fighting with everything in me. Fire, ice, and the occasional explosion of electric blue lightning sparked between us as my magic fought long and hard to keep the balance between us. A scythe, ten feet in length and made of silver, flashed through the empty air in front of me, nearly separating head from neck, but I listened. And Manwë began to speak again.

My voice deepened, and through lips I could not control, I declared, "**You will not touch her.**"

The Dead Entity widened his eyes a moment, surprised to find the strength with which I battled, the strength of the allies who provided their assistance, and then charged forward to meet me. A sheet of ice coated the left forearm I raised to parry a swipe of his scythe. With that icicle used for the shield, I could defend myself, but I needed to attack again. So I summoned another for the other arm and used this icicle to slash at his face.

Death barely retreated in time and furiously slashed his scythe over me, a useless and wide angle that I decided to use as an advantage, then. My icicle slipped through his left eye and partially blinded him, but the other began to glow enough to blind and disorient me, as well. The Beast screeched at me. I wordlessly screamed back at him. We charged again.

_Squelch. _I **heard** it, the sound of metal slipping through skin, tearing through muscle, and breaking through bone. I **felt** it, the hot slime of blood, tissue, and matter that slithered down the outstretched forearm. And I **tasted** it, the iron of blood that sprayed into the mouth I opened to breathe sharply in surprise. We, Death and I, stared almost blindly into opposing eyes.

"How is this p-p-possible?" Death whispered through the blood that gushed from between his fangs; his bloodied, ruined fangs. "You should not have been able to best m-_me_. Y-y-_you_ –!"

"I," Breath short, I finished his sentence with cold, determined words: "**I'm** the Heir of Manwë."

My forearm, already firmly lodged within his chest cavity, twisted to the left. I butchered everything within reach because I did not know what it would take to _kill him,_ and I could not possibly fathom the extent to which I would have to wound the undead creature to prevent him from healing and coming back for me. His heart, which had been still before I impaled it with the icicle, _remained _still, silent, and cold. It did not beat. It did not **love.**

"Goodnight, Death," I quietly wished, because in the end, Death would not be gone. He would always be here, to stalk through the bloody battlefields to claim the departed, and to glide through the endless night to claim the Souls of the Dead.

A hand at my arm, warm and reassuring in its feather light touches, guided the body but not the mind from the strange, motionless corpse. Eowyn, I could remember her name. And I could hear her. "Come, Sammy! You, the children, and I must leave now. We must return to the others before nightfall. Your foe might have been vanquished, but others yet remain."

Brave Ѐothain, his hands shaking, slowly moved to hold the other arm. Warm fingers touched something cold, like ice, and I dimly remembered the two icicles clinging to my arms, a shield and sword. I blinked down at the glistening sheets of ice, feeling oddly disoriented, and then thought back to the fireballs that had burst from the palm of these hands. Ice melted. Water washed the crimson blood into nothingness, but not the memories.

My memories would live forever…

Small voice filled with fear, Freda gently touched her fingers to my arm and asked, "Does it hurt, Lady Sissy? It _looks_ like it might hurt…" A tiny, delicate hand – that little hand that selflessly offered comfort this morning – slowly curled around mine.

My hand in hers, I could breathe again, and I could hear, see, move again. A voice that sounded like mine returned, if only for the moment, because when I whistled and called out for Orion, I could feel the bumps and rough skin inside, like sandpaper. Still, Orion responded to the call, familiar with its sharp cadence, and galloped from within the distance, leaving the trail of the Rohirrim.

After quickly climbing into the saddle, I pulled both Ѐothain and Freda to me. Eowyn was an experienced rider and hoisted herself into the rough saddle without assistance, though it became difficult to remain seated with four riders in the saddle. We were all relatively small in stature – at least, Ѐothain, Freda, and I were, as we were shorter than most Men and Women – and the weight did not bother Orion. My horse entered his favorite gallop and darted to the start of the dirt trail that had been left in the wake of hundreds, perhaps _thousands,_ of boots and horses' hooves before us.

Swiftly, I permitted Orion to have his head, and the horse ducked down to release the full extent of his speed and to reach his full potential. My brilliant Warhorse, with his sharp, strategic mind, sensed how imperative it would be for Eowyn, Ѐothain, Freda, and myself to reach the safety of the fortress before nightfall. We needed to heal, to rest. And Eowyn needed to guide the Rohirrim.

Soon enough, Eowyn and I shifted because of the damp cold, which sent chills down our arms. I glanced behind, to where Eowyn rested in the saddle, her arms over my waist, and smiled tiredly at her. She smiled back, her expression of relief broken only by the short, almost hysterical bust of laughter that followed. My right arm, curled around both Ѐothain and Freda, moved to hold tightly to the reins with the left, pulling backwards to slow Orion. We stopped atop the hill, staring past the line of Rohirrim and into the shadows of the monstrous stone structure that bathed their forms in blank ink.

"We're finally here," I whispered, softly, and with the strongest rush of relief. We were safe, scared but safe. My friends might not yet be here, but I had Eowyn with her determination, Ѐothain with his bravery, and Freda with her sweet kindness. We would stick together and retreat to the Caves.

"Where are we?" Freda questioned, head turned to me, eyes open and filled with curiosity.

Together, Eowyn and I breathed, "Helm's Deep…"

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**Dun, dun, dun!**

What shall happen since **Death** is out of the picture? Who knows? Not me! :D

**IMPORTANT NOTE: ** _Manwë possessed Sammy_, by the way. He speaks in** bold letters.** He is also the reason our cantankerous heroine sounded _all-powerful_ toward the end. She is not; far from it, in fact! _**She will not be given these powers again. So do not freak out about it, please!**_

By the by, I apologize that this is later than I promised, but I was told to study for the Praxis II, which advisors decided to make test dates for without telling me. Yay...

Anyway, I must sleep, uh, _study_ again...

**READ AND REVIEW! :D**

Update = 485


	37. Chapter 36: For Me

~Chapter Thirty Six~

For Me

_Drain All The Blood,  
>And Give The Kids A Show,<br>By Streetlight, This Dark Night A Séance Down Below.  
>There's Things That I Have Done,<br>You Never, Should Never…  
>Know.<em>

_And Without You Is How I Disappear.  
>And Live My Life Alone<br>Forever Now._

_Can You Hear Me Cry Out To You?_

_~This Is How I Disappear, _by My Chemical Romance

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Soon enough, Eowyn and I shifted because of the damp cold, which sent chills down our arms. I glanced behind, to where Eowyn rested in the saddle, her arms over my waist, and smiled tiredly at her. She smiled back, her expression of relief broken only by the short, almost hysterical bust of laughter that followed. My right arm, curled around both Ѐothain and Freda, moved to hold tightly to the reins with the left, pulling backwards to slow Orion. We stopped atop the hill, staring past the line of Rohirrim and into the shadows of the monstrous stone structure that bathed their forms in blank ink.<strong>

**"We're finally here," I whispered, softly, and with the strongest rush of relief. We were safe, scared but safe. My friends might not yet be here, but I had Eowyn with her determination, Ѐothain with his bravery, and Freda with her sweet kindness. We would stick together and retreat to the Caves.**

**"Where are we?" Freda questioned, head turned to me, eyes open and filled with curiosity.**

**Together, Eowyn and breathed, "Helm's Deep…"**

* * *

><p>Miraculously, Eowyn, Ѐothain, Freda, and I peacefully entered through large, stone gates to claim sanctuary within Helm's Deep. We found ourselves seated in the midst of hundreds of other Rohirrim, and without difficulties, either. We were greeted and hugged by several of the Rohirrim; those that greatly respected Eowyn, loved brave Ѐothain and little Freda, and offered their trust to me were many. Several Women offered extra bread to us, whereas others hurried to point out the small pool of fresh water rushing in from the nearby river. Encouraged Eowyn and myself to clean up and rid ourselves of the blood, the stench of Death.<p>

_I killed._

_I killed him._

_I killed __**Death.**_

My mind sluggishly processed this thought step by step. Still, I could not make sense of it. An undead Entity could not be killed, but I'd managed to stop Death in his tracks, keep him from hurting anybody else that I cared about. How had I done it? Would I have to do it again?

Somehow, I didn't think that Death was gone…

_Death is here._

"Oh, I would love the chance to bathe! Lovely!" Eowyn exclaimed, her hands clasped together, and strongly marched forward to the water, with Ѐothain and Freda warily trailing behind her.

Glances of unhappiness flickered between the two. Small mumbles of "I do not like bathing," "I know, but Lady Sissy thinks it is important," and "Manwë preserve us" were whispered back and forth between the children of Rohan. Ѐothain arranged his shoulders to slump forward in general unhappiness – Freda tried to hide behind her older brother, who moved her to stand beside me, instead. I absently pulled her closer and permitted her to shove her small fingers between my own.

_What do I do now? _I worried, biting the lower lip that Aragorn loved to pull into his mouth. I secretly pretended that the Ranger moved along with us, an eye on me and hand to my arm. _I usually have the Fellowship with me, and I'm used to fighting with words and magic to get through everything…_

Little Freda relaxed into my arms and observed Eowyn with interest, but Ѐothain frowned darkly in worry. Eyes of hazel flickered from the grate in the waterway, to the cracks in the weathered stone walls, and to the velvet sky above us. "…Can enemies get in here, Lady Sammy?"

My hand, which tightened around his shoulder in answer, now itched for the beautiful bow and quiver I usually had strapped to me. It had been left to rest atop the packs, instead. _Ѐothain is right. Enemies will undoubtedly find the weaknesses that this child of twelve noticed, too. _I scowled furiously. _Do I really just hide here and hope for the best…? _

_**You cannot save everyone.**_

"Thank you."

A sigh escaped Eowyn because the other Rohirrim insisted that the Woman bathe first, but the Shield Maiden finally consented. Grateful for the chance to wash the events of the day from her skin, Eowyn marched off to the ravine, her hands already cupping the water. She slowly, almost reverently, lifted it to her red, bloodstained cheeks, forehead, and neck. Washed the blood from her face, her neck, her arms, and her legs. Red rain trickled down her slender form in rivulets, before draining into the icy water below us, a memory of the recent bloodshed slowly gone.

My friend turned to us and smiled cheerfully, the softness of her lips curling in relief. Ѐothain and Freda tentatively smiled back at her, but the former fidgeted, still ill at ease. And I –

I only stared straight ahead, silently and unseeingly, through watery eyes.

_What do I do?_

The Lady of Rohan lifted her dirty, ripped skirts in her hands, holding their tattered remains with grace. She waded slowly into the water. Face upturned, Eowyn gestured to the cold water and urged, "You should wash, Sammy! It is cold, but the water is refreshing! My skin sings with cleanliness."

Slowly, I emerged from behind the thick, black fog clouding my eyes. "Yeah, I probably should get this blood off me," I sighed in quiet agreement, knowing that being clean would make it easier to recuperate and stay another step ahead of the next enemy.

My face darkened.

…_Saruman._

"Our turn, Lady Sissy," Freda sweetly chirped, breaking through all the worries and the frantic planning by tugging lightly at the torn sleeve in her grasp. She pointed from Eowyn to me and smiled brightly – "Bath time!"

Thus, I found myself standing in the bitterly cold ravine, bathing and cleansing the dirtied skin and soiled clothes of two tired children. As expected, Freda obediently permitted the quick bath, before quietly seating herself at the side of the ravine to let her dark blonde hair dry in the fading sunlight. On the other hand, Ѐothain abandoned his normally good mannerisms and outright _refused _to bathe. Argued heatedly and attempted to scurry away.

Ѐothain did not make it far, though; I grabbed the sleeve of his tunic, which reeked of blood, urine, and other unsavory smells, and tugged him into the water. He spluttered for the briefest of moments and then wiped his stringy, wet hair from his thin face, lips pulled down into a scowl of frustration. My charge, though twelve, was pretty much forcibly bathed since the boy refused to clean himself – while I washed his hair, Eowyn scrubbed down his arms and face. He quietly grumbled under his breath, clearly embarrassed that Eowyn and I treated him like a child. A son…

Absently, I smiled wistfully at the thought of having children, and mused: _Will Aragorn and I have a son? _

_**Perhaps, **_Manwë murmured in response. _**The Heir of Isildur will need his own – a prince.**_

My heart skipped forward with such speed that I stumbled, nearly falling face first into the water that I continued to wade in. Ѐothain, who rested beside his little sister now, glanced to me as my expression flickered through the kaleidoscope of surprise, and shock, and happiness. It flickered from emotion to emotion with startling speed but eventually settled into the last, which suitably reassured the young and headstrong Rohirrim. He smiled faintly at me and then glanced to his side, listening to the soft, cheerful chatter of Eowyn and Freda. And I smiled, too. _A son…_

A small chuckle whispered down to me, and through the thoughts already whirling inside the chaotic mind I called mine, Manwë mysteriously intoned: _**You have Faith.**_

_What do you mean? _I carefully asked him, before smirking somewhat sarcastically at the shadowy figure that I believed to be the Vala. _You know that I __**always**__ have faith!_

Nobody responded.

…_Manwë?_

With the others preoccupied, I stared into nothingness while attempting to worm some more information out of the tightlipped Vala. He mentioned nothing else; thus, I finally decided to glance down to my stomach and stared at it in suspicion. I carefully lifted the old tunic and examined the (…mostly…) flat stomach I could then see. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, but I poked it, anyway. My stomach only growled at me. _Okay, then…_

Shrugging it off, I scrubbed down my arms and face with the rough cloth Eowyn passed to me. My face, free of the blood and mud caked to it, actually resembled the Twin I loved. Ocean blue eyes were now staring from within the reflection swimming around in the murky water instead of forest irises, through which I could suddenly see a scar over my eye. I stared at it. Another, and another, and yet _another_ appeared from beneath the layers of dirt, and I scowled viciously at the disgusting markings. I scrubbed viciously until the scarred skin turned pink with the harshness of the treatment, but I still remained scarred.

My lips trembled, and I sadly touched the red lines over my eye.

So many scars…

_Sacrifice._

"Ugh, I'm going to be scarred beyond recognition pretty soon, like Frankenstein," I muttered darkly. Lips twisted, I splashed the reflection with flat palms and rushed out of the water to return to the others in my group.

Thoughtfully, Freda moved aside for me and then curled her smaller hand around mine. "Why are you so angry?" She innocently asked, sounding confused, and tilted her head to the side to stare at me.

"My…hair is bothering me," I finally said, though I wanted to whine about the markings added to the already extensive collection I had from the Ranch. Blandly, I lifted the wet ponytail that slapped wetly over my neck and dropped it in annoyance. I playfully complained, "Orion has shorter hair!"

Little Freda smiled at Orion, who I had tied to the nearest wooden stake in the hopes of keeping the War Horse still and in check. Orion would likely charge into the midst of battle if not tethered down. She cooed to him, and Orion whinnied softly to her, the sound much quieter than the usual trumpeting of his war cry. The Blue Roan then continued eating his oats.

"You're silly, Lady Sissy!" Freda scolded gently, before dusting her bottom off and skipping away as another little girl wandered forward to play. I could only stare after her in surprise because the little Rohirrim waved and insisted, "Mommy has pretty horse hair like yours."

I blinked. _Well, then…_

"Come, Sammy!" Eowyn called, having overheard the conversation between Freda and myself just now. She patted the empty bit of stone before her and smiled teasingly at me, a glint in her honey eyes. "Since it is bothersome, I will braid the _horse hair_ for you."

"Thanks," I dryly laughed, but I still smiled at her in appreciation, before climbing over a series of wet rocks and walking forward. I rifled through the packs, plopped down in front of her, and then handed her the comb I used to tame the stubborn hair.

A lock of thick, yellow hair twisted in her grip, curling around two others like it, and the start of the braid pulled gently on my nape. "You have such beautiful hair," Eowyn wistfully said while braiding the three together, knotting them together with bits of twine.

"Yours is so much prettier," I retorted bluntly without waiting for her to refuse the truth of the compliment, "especially since it's all long and straight!" My nose wrinkled faintly in distaste. "Mine is always curling and making a mess…"

Chidingly, Eowyn smacked the comb against my nape and murmured, "Nonsense, Sammy – it is fine, beautiful hair that frames your pretty features." I snorted in disagreement and the Shield Maiden laughingly pointed the comb at me. "Besides, Lord Aragorn _must_ think it pretty!"

"What makes you – or anybody _else,_ for that matter – think so?" I asked, too curious to keep the question to myself, and with lifted eyebrows that signaled to her what I thought of her teasing. I would definitely return the favor if – _when_ – Seth showed. Smirk.

"Your betrothed always pulls the end of it to tease you!" Eowyn explained through giggles, which bubbled from within her at the sight of the pink blush of embarrassment staining my nose. An amused smirk lifted her lips. "You honestly did not know that others had noticed it, then?"

"Dear God! _No,_" I groaned in response and buried flushed cheeks into my warm palms, before glancing at her through the fingers. Eyes of blue and brown met, and I sheepishly admitted, "But I _do_ know that Aragorn does it." My smile softened at the thought of the Ranger. "I…I think it calms him…"

"_You _calm him," Eowyn corrected. My comb stopped moving through the damp strands of hair; Eowyn had braided another two over my ears and moved back to examine her handiwork. She nodded to herself. "Yes! Very nice, I believe! Lord Aragorn will like it."

Licking dry lips, I turned from the reflection in the water, which I liked much better this time around, and retrieved the wooden comb from where Eowyn put it. "May I do yours now?" I hesitantly asked her.

"Of course you may," Eowyn said through the note of surprise in her voice and turned to have it done, leaving the hair waving down her shoulders to my mercy. While I worked, Eowyn made little headbands from the daisies that Freda brought her and put them in her hair.

Quietly, I braided hers with little loops and extra braids interwoven into a crown. I made certain to leave the top of her head bare and waited for the chance to put flowers in it, like Eowyn had done for Freda. I grinned and shyly said, "Done! Here you go."

Catching sight of her reflection, Eowyn bit her reddened lips and frowned in worry. Turned her head to the left, the right, and back the front. My conservative friend cleared her throat and asked, "Is this not too intricate for me?"

"It is pretty busy," I admitted, thinking that something like this hairdo would probably be used for weddings and stuff around here, and I lifted both shoulders in silent apology, "but it _really _highlights your eyes and cheekbones, so…"

"…Thank you," Eowyn shyly said while I trailed off into nothingness, and her smile softened in understanding and gratitude. Fingers twisted around the tip of her braid and then moved to trace the little loops curled around her head and into that one. "Really, I love it…"

Aha! My small smile brightened with glee, and I snickered rather childishly at her…_lovestruck _expression. "Seth will love it, too," I teased her and, without warning, swiftly reached forward to drop a crown of wildflowers to the top of her head.

The Shield Maiden could not resist the overwhelming temptation to roll her honey brown eyes and sighed, but let the flowers be. She crossed slender arms under the small breasts that emphasized her willowy frame. "Sammy…"

"No, I'm serious, Eowyn," I stubbornly said, before reaching down for my necklace and playing with the clean military tag. "…He loves you, you know…" Her breath caught. My eyes met hers again, like earlier, and I softly pleaded, "Take care of him, okay?"

"Of course," Eowyn agreed, also speaking softly, and with this earnest promise glittering in her honey eyes. I said nothing else, but I reached for her hand and squeezed it in thanks. We were quiet.

_Hmm…_

Idly, I glanced from her, to the children, to the sky, and then did another take at the little Rohirrim. I stared in bemusement at Ѐothain and Freda, who remained beside me, a crown in each of their hair. Freda, as a girl, looked quite happy with her flowers, but Ѐothain grudgingly adorned the crown of interwoven daisies and petunias in his hair. He appeared to be resigned to his fate, but like **all** good big brothers, Ѐothain did not refuse his sister. And I thought of Seth. My heart lurched, and I tried to hide the tears that suddenly watered in my eyes.

_What the Hell? _I desperately thought, blinking back the onslaught of tears that threatened to pour over my nose and cheeks and chin like rain. I touched the tears in confusion. _…Why'm I crying?_

Small hands, warm and soft, clutched at the ripped tunic that stayed put, but only barely, over my neck and shoulders. I leaned into the touch, blindly pulling little Freda into my arms and burying tearstained cheeks into her dirty, unkempt hair. Ѐothain leaned forward to curl his forearms over mine. Others, including the little girl Freda played with earlier, also settled nearby, their fingers and hands and legs occasionally brushing against mine. A sweet gesture of such innocent affection made it all the harder to breathe or see.

"Do not fear, Sammy," Eowyn desperately said through the fear in her tightening throat, making it hard to speak. She settled down beside me and touched her fingers to my arm. "Is there anything I could to help? Anything at all that I could get you? Please!"

Brokenly, I permitted all of the emotions of the last few days – weeks, really – to rush down over me, my worn and battered soul. It wanted to fall asleep, to drift off and then wake to find the War over. My eyes were warm, reddened with tears, and I softly hiccupped, "I…I want…"

An elderly Woman approached and ushered the children off to continue their original tasks, though Ѐothain and Freda refused to leave. She walked carefully, with her bandaged feet picking out the best of the rough rocks to step on, and asked, "What troubles you?"

…_I want Aragorn._

_**My**__ Aragorn._

A pair of brown irises carefully observed the faraway expression in mine. "She has been through much these last few days," Eowyn softly said to her because I had yet to respond to the strange newcomer, my mind elsewhere, far from here – with Aragorn. Seth. The Fellowship…

"We all have," The Woman snapped, but her frown lightened at the protective stance that Eowyn and the children had taken beside me. "Arianna is my name," She continued and her brittle lips twisted into a wry smile, "but the…_others_ refer to me as Scary Ari."

_Who would find her scary?_ I hysterically wondered, nearly mad with the hurricane of emotions burning through me – my mind, chest, and stomach. Fear did not fight the anxiety swirling in me. However, I had been seen **and **done things that most here wouldn't entertain in their darkest nightmares.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Arianna scowled at me. I stared at her, at her face. She was a short, hunched Woman, with white hair and wrinkled skin. Eyes, wide and bluer than my own, were small and lost beneath the lines that time had carved into her face. In her youth, Arianna must have been remarkably pretty, with the blonde hair of her people, eyes of sapphire, and delicate skin. But now…

Nothing about her seemed remarkably frightening, aside from the sharp bite in her muttered insults, which I decided to ignore. Sticks and stones might hurt and break bones, but harsh words could hurt, too. _Pathetic mortal. YOU ARE STUPID, WEAK, AND UGLY. __**DIE!**_

No, Arianna didn't scare me.

Not at all…

"Hello," I quietly greeted her, with stiff shoulders and knees and tone of voice. Why? Because I did not want to be _bothered_ right now. I wanted to quietly rest here with Eowyn, Ѐothain, and Freda. And I wanted to pretend that nothing bad could happen to us anymore. If only for a moment.

A sigh left her lips. Arianna slowly scanned first Eowyn and the children, and then me, eyes on my stomach. I grasped it protectively, knuckles white and tensed. She stared thoughtfully at it, and then smiled sadly. "…Which of the Men is yours?"

Heart bleeding, I continued holding it and then clasped other fingers tightly over my necklace – the cold, silver chain and its metal tag, which burned from the body heat I pressed into it. I licked chapped lips to wet them, opened them to speak, and –

"I am."

My world of darkness and confusion and fear exploded with soft, beautiful light. We all seemed to freeze in that moment, but I slowly managed to turn around to face the Man that had spoken his declaration with such assuredness and finality in his tone. None would dare disagree with him, least of all me. I would always be his. _Always…_

"Aragorn," I breathed through frozen lips. My heart practically burst with the happiness of hearing his voice, of seeing his face, and then – I stared at his bloodied, dirtied cheeks and forehead. "Jesus Christ!" I yelped at him, rather startled. "What **happened** to you?"

"Lord Seth and I…_might_ have tumbled off the edge of the cliffs," Aragorn sheepishly explained, his hand in his hair and smile apologetic. I cringed because, really, I should have _remembered_ that little bit of information, especially given that I'd been worrying about it, but…

_Wait, _I suddenly thought, feeling the pit of darkness returning to claim me, a worry eating at the stomach I continued to occasionally gentle brush fingers over. _If Aragorn is here, where is…?_

"Seth! What about Lord Seth?" Eowyn demanded through her fears, subconsciously hunching forward to shield herself from the inevitable, from the deliverance of the good, bad, _who knows what_ news. Hands clutched at her chest. Mouth trembled.

"Fear not, Lady Eowyn. The Lord Seth has left to rejoin the Riders with Gandalf, while I made haste for Helm's Deep," Aragorn explained, lifting his – injured, bleeding – arm up. My stony stare snapped to the long limb like rubber bands. "I need to have this tended to…"

My mouth unhinged from its clenched state, and I frowned at him in worry. "You're hurt!" I inhaled sharply, speaking the obvious before really thinking, and hurriedly scanned his lanky form for any more injuries. Nothing seemed out of place, but –

A hand dropped to gently stroke the face that I lifted to his. He warmly smiled down at me, a sweet and tender light in his stormy eyes. "As Lord Seth said," Aragorn chuckled, his voice strangely lighter than it had been in days, "'I'll live.'"

A small sob escaped from within me, and I rushed forward, hugging him tightly, both hands fisted in the back of his tunic. I could feel his hands stroking my arms and leaned into his comforting touch. My breath hitched, and I whispered, "…Crazy Ranger!"

"Hush," He murmured, his face softening at the familiar endearment, though most would think it to be insulting to him. Arms holding mine, Aragorn pressed kisses to my eyelids and tearstained cheeks and hummed, "Here I am, Samantha. Here I am…"

A soft snort of amusement called out to me. Aragorn pulled back, and I smiled shyly at Eowyn, who only pointedly stared at the end of the braid that Aragorn currently tugged at with his gentle fingers. My smile pulled further upwards, to meet my eyes. I still leaned against Aragorn, hands buried in the bit of tunic resting over a strongly beating heart – _his_ heart, which_ I_ claimed, too. Mine beat in time with his, thumping with relief because…

"You're safe," I softly reassured – to Aragorn, to myself, and to the gently whisper fluttering in my warm stomach. My Aragorn smiled at me.

"Ah! Yes, I see. You must be her betrothed," Arianna dryly stated, finally speaking up. She made to stand and then clapped her hands together at his silent smile of agreement. "Well, I believe that well wishes must be given, Lord Aragorn!"

My Ranger continued to smile at the Rohirrim Woman, who commenced with smirking strangely at him, but his expression contorted with confusion. He cleared his throat, flicked his gaze over me, and warily said, "Ah. Thank you…?"

Again, Aragorn glanced down to me, a question burning in his silver irises. Now knowing that Arianna could honestly be referring to _anything, _I shrugged to signify that I didn't understand, either. The Healer chuckled while I absently stroked the stomach that I continued to hold, humming softly and smiling, probably like a moron, at nothing in particular.

_Ha! Suck it, Saruman! _I happily rejoiced in the return of the Man that I loved. _**My**__ Aragorn is back with __**me.**_

Another smaller, darker voice snorted at me and treacherously whispered: _Not for long! _

"What do you mean?" Eowyn finally asked, her curiosity overwhelming the ingrained training to be quiet and demur. My friend liked to gossip – uh, to be informed – and Arianna appeared to know something that nobody else did yet.

Laughter cackled out from between her dark red lips. "Your friend, Lady Eowyn, is with child!" Arianna brightly declared and lifted her gnarled left hand to point from Ѐothain and Freda to me – or my, apparently, pregnant belly.

Strangled, Aragorn coughed, his face frozen with shock, with happiness and hope. He roughly dropped to his bottom, seating himself along the nearest wall of stone, staring at nothing. My smile stuck in place, I blinked at Eowyn and the old Healer and silently mouthed her words – _"Your friend is with child" _– to myself. Still, I didn't really understand. _What…?_

Eowyn, however, lifted her hand to her mouth and stared at me. "She…is…with _child?_" Silent floundering for words followed this stuttered statement of disbelief, in which Aragorn and I quickly joined, too.

Stunned beyond speech, Aragorn and I stared at the Rohirrim Healer, mouths hanging open and collecting nothing but the dirt and dust that fluttered in the wind. I finally regained the strength to move and touched gentle fingertips to my small bump. My fingers pressed into the tunic that shielded the soft bump from view, and I stared down at it with wonder. Not for even a single moment did I doubt Arianna.

No, I **believed** her because it made _sense _– my mood swings, my sour stomach caused by the smell of certain foods, and the unwavering vigilance of Legolas. _Bloody Elf…!_

"Huh," I stupidly said, blinking still at the unexpectedness of the news and not really processing it for the most part. My head tilted to the side, I thought of the first time that I made love with Aragorn, and all of the times afterward. We had wanted children, but so soon…?

For his part, Aragorn only stared dumbly at me, my stomach, without blinking. He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for the words and finding only two. My lover lifted his face to the skies and laughed, though it sounded somewhat strangled – "…a child…!"

While I worried about his reaction, and what it could actually mean, a warm and wrinkled palm clasped mine. Arianna smiled crookedly at me. "The King of Gondor will have his prince or princess in about six months, I reckon! Long live Gondor!" She cackled in happiness.

_Six months…? _My mind buzzed with all of the information I could recall from Earth – the stages of development, the need for certain nutrients, the signs for conditions that might develop for the baby and for me, and when to call the…

…Doctor. Everything screeched to a sudden stop with the word to image recognition of that particular word. _What about __**doctors?**__ What about checkups, and vitamins, and hospitals?_ I blanched in horror.

WHAT ABOUT EPIDURALS?!

_God help me…_

A wrinkled hand patted mine, letting her clawed fingers curl around the bloody and dirty (and, if anybody asked Eowyn, deadly) fingers that I had yet to wash. Scary Ari gently rubbed the dried flakes of old and brown blood left beneath chipped fingernails, examined the collection of cuts and bruises that colored the pale flesh, and grunted. I blinked down at the skin and turned to smile at her. She smiled back with teeth and wrinkles and laugh lines. And then –

"…Shit!" I suddenly leaned forward and emptied the hot bile from my upset stomach into the nearest crevice, which ripped Aragorn from his stupor and prompted him forward to pull back the braids swinging in my way. My tears and hiccups returned because of the rather forceful vomiting.

"Breathe, Samantha," Aragorn murmured, before hoisting me up and pressing his chest to mine while holding me. "You must breathe and stay calm for…for the child." He leaned down to drop his lips to my crown and smiled stupidly. Again. "**Our** child…"

A strangled exhale left me as my mouth, and lungs, and heart restarted in tandem to regulate themselves. "Okay, I'm breathing, I'm breathing," I muttered into his chest, letting the tall Ranger gently tighten his hold without protest.

What good would it do, anyway?

_None, _I dryly admitted.

Arianna departed then, but not before handing two packages of herbs to Aragorn. He quickly removed three small, pink plants from the burlap sacks, which Arianna offhandedly mentioned would help with the morning sickness (_that I had all the damn time_) and offered them to me. I made faces at him, smelling their faintly bitter aroma, and tried to wiggle out of his hold. My lover stubbornly insisted that I eat them, though, and pressed them to my mouth. Finally, I relented and accepted them, chewing the bitter plants. Nose scrunched in disgust.

"Blech," I whined, finally managing to swallow the rest of the nasty herbs, and shivered at the aftertaste. Aragorn stroked his hands over my arms and back, clearly pleased, but I scowled unhappily at him. I glared daggers at the Ranger. "Asshole…"

Blinking, Aragorn smirked at my nasty little insult and threateningly muttered, "Be quiet, lest I decide to share with the others_ exactly_ how it is I succeeded in rounding this little belly of yours with child, Little One." A hand moved to lightly brush over my rear.

Although I figured that Seth and Boromir would beat him for telling them _anything _concerning our sexual relations, I still sputtered in shock and hissed, "You do it, Aragorn, and this will be the _first _and _**last **_child I have with you! You hear me?"

"Aye, I do!" My Ranger laughed uproariously and pressed his lips to my own, pushing and pulling the small pout into another smile. "I love you so very much," Aragorn breathed, his forehead pressed to mine, and stared into my eyes.

Heart brimming with happiness, I cuddled into his hold and strongly declared, "And I love you, too." My head rested atop his heart, which continued to beat and sing the lullaby I cherished most.

We stayed like that for what seemed to be hours, though in reality, I could tell that it had been only minutes. My Aragorn needed to return to the rest of the Men. He needed to be tended to and debriefed before the coming battle, in which Aragorn would play a very important role – leading the Elven Archers. He would have to step forward and take charge and claim his birthright.

My Aragorn would become…

The King of Gondor.

"Samantha," Aragorn murmured the moment I shifted restlessly again, uncomfortable with the knowledge that I would be parted from him again. My lover sighed quietly, thinking along similar lines, and commenced with tugging at the ends of the thick braid swinging over my shoulders.

"I know," I mumbled, listening to the apology in his voice and settling into his hold again. My eyelids fluttered softly and then reopened to the brilliant light of the stars which, while much brighter here in Middle Earth, happened to be the same constellations I had learned about growing up. _You shine like the stars._

"Darkness is upon us now," Eowyn suddenly breathed, the words dark, heavy, and frightening. In contrast to her words, though, the light of hundreds of torches seemed to be burning in the distance – just outside the walls of Helm's Deep.

_Dear God in Heaven. _My stomach sank faster than I thought possible. My heart, however, leaped to my parted lips. I desperately hugged Aragorn, holding him closer to me and not wanting to let him go. And Eowyn pulled Ѐothain and Freda to her chest. _It's starting…_

A shadow emerged from within the glow of the orange and red firelight. King Théoden, his mouth drawn in seriousness, stepped forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He ominously stated, "It is time, Lord Aragorn…"

Face set, Aragorn slowly removed the fingers I had buried in his tunic and climbed to his full height of six feet and six inches. I pleadingly reached for him again, fearing that I would lose him if Aragorn left me. He gently pushed until I moved to stand beside Eowyn. With Freda in my arms and Ѐothain and I standing leg to leg, I stared forlornly at him, silent and scared. The Ranger stared, first at them and then at me, and resolutely turned to face the King of Rohan.

"…My King?" Aragorn prompted, clearly waiting for instructions and silently planning ahead for the battle that would surely take place. The Battle of Helm's Deep.

"We gather forces now." King Théoden inclined his head to the older Man in acknowledgement and gestured to the guards behind him, two of whom stepped forward, their eyes on my – _my_ – charge. "I want all strong Men escorted to the front lines."

A Man obediently reached forward with his gloved hand to grab Ѐothain, but I stopped him with my own. Everyone remained silent, though I could practically hear their teeth grinding in anger. Still, I protected the boy, refusing to part with him, with this boy who protected others at the risk of his life, with this boy that I cared greatly for. One of the guards moved his hand, reaching for the handle of his axe, and in the next second, Aragorn had him by his neck to the wall, his snarl dark and dangerous.

"You owe me," I quietly said to him, hands clenched, and glanced from the furious face of the Rohirrim Guard to stare into the cold and serious face of the King Théoden.

Ice blue eyes and sky blue clashed dangerously with the force of two strong wills. We stared at each other, daring the other to look away and relent first, before Théoden solemnly inclined his head – and this time, to me. "He shall be left in your care."

"Good," I firmly stated, hugging the terrified boy closer, letting him shrink further under my arm and keeping him hidden from view long after the guards left us. My stomach pounded with the weight of this responsibility. He wasn't mine, but I loved him. I loved Ѐothain and Freda.

Eyes tightly shut, Ѐothain slowly relaxed, though his shivering had not subsided yet. He shakily breathed in my scent, which Boromir had liked to honeysuckle and rain in passing, and gasped, "Thank you so much, Lady Sammy…"

"No need to thank me," I whispered to him and kissed the top of his head, brushing the hair from his eyes and then kissing his forehead. Freda squirmed in between us and insistently begged to be hugged and kissed, too. I smiled warmly at them. "I'll always look out for you and Freda."

"We must go and meet the others at the awning," Théoden murmured to Aragorn, who frowned darkly and agreed with this assessment, though it bothered him. It bothered both of them, in truth…

Solemnly, Aragorn moved to follow the other Man, but at the last second glanced back to me and hesitated. My hands still curled protectively around Ѐothain and Freda – and the soft bump that would become our child. He turned to the King. "I will be there shortly."

"Of course…" The King glanced from him, back to me, and sighed faintly in what I believed to be regret, before turning to face his niece. He smiled, holding her delicate hand in his, and said, "Be strong, Eowyn."

"I will because I must, but I wish I could be there with you," The Shield Maiden tearfully said, her voice strong through the tears that made it thick with pain. "Be careful, Uncle. Please…"

The King pressed his lips to her forehead, leaving them there for a second, and then left. A sudden departure from her beloved Uncle prompted her forward to me, and Eowyn strongly declared, "You and I must help! We must head to the Caves, Sammy."

"Go ahead, Eowyn. I'll catch up," I urged her, waiting patiently for the blunt refusal that would be spoken by the Woman whom I trusted and loved most in Middle Earth. She didn't disappoint, either.

Sure enough, Eowyn furrowed her brows in wary concern. "Sammy…" She started and placed her hands to her skinny hips – in other words, if Eowyn could not fight, then I most certainly would not be permitted. My friend, in her jealousy, appeared to want to drag me away.

"Really, I'll be there soon," I said, before gently herding Ѐothain and Freda into her waiting arms as yet another horn, sounding much closer, screamed through the night. When her expression turned doubtful, I curled pinkies with her and added, "I promise."

After Eowyn, Ѐothain, and Freda left, Aragorn stepped forward. He stared down at me, a soft and tender expression in his beautiful silver eyes. A large hand, strong but gentle all the same, reached out to caress me – my cheek and neck and hips. My lover inhaled, exhaled, and then murmured, "Samantha, if I do not…"

"You have to be safe," I quietly said, refusing to let him finish that sentence – _If I do not return_. I leaned into his touch and then grabbed his hand, holding it fast with mine. I moved it down to cover my stomach – his child and mine.

Silver irises widened, but I didn't let him speak yet because these words – this plea and threat and promise – needed to be heard. I stared straight at him, willing him to really _hear me,_ and declared, "I will **not** raise this child alone, Aragorn."

Lips touched mine, pushing the warmth that I missed down into my very core. "I will not leave you – you or our child. I will always be here," Aragorn breathed into me, my mouth and heart and soul.

Remembering the promise – his and mine – spoken during lovemaking, I gripped his tunic all the tighter and recited the rest of the words. Blue meeting silver, I softly whispered, "Promise?"

"Always," Aragorn agreed, sealing with the weight of his lips on mine that, in the next second, vanished. My lover marched steadfastly forward, through the crowd, through the endless darkness, and to war.

"Please, Aragorn," I whispered, "Come back to me…"

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><p>***Author's Note***<p>

**HI, ALL~! ** Thanks for all the lovely reviews and prodding to continue to update this story as soon as possible. _ It is so appreciated! _;)

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the interactions between Sammy and Eowyn, Ѐothain, and Freda. Aragorn, too! _**How did everybody like his reaction to finding out that Sammy is pregnant? For that matter, how did everybody like** her reaction? _ LOL XD

**As Always, Please Read and Review!**

_Update = 500 to 505 Reviews :)_


	38. Chapter 37: At The End Of The Tunnel

~Chapter Thirty Seven~

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

_Give Me A Reason To Stay,  
>'Cause I Don't Want To Live In Fear.<em>

_I Can't Stop The Rain,  
>But I Can Stop The Tears.<br>Oh, I Can't Fight The Fire,  
>But I Can Fight The Fear.<em>

_What Do We Stand For  
>When We All Live In Fear?<em>

_Give Me A Reason To Believe._

_~No More, _by Three Days Grace

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>Lips touched mine, pushing the warmth that I missed down into my very core. "I will not leave you – you or our child. I will always be here," Aragorn breathed into me, my mouth and heart and soul.<strong>

**Remembering the promise – his and mine – spoken during lovemaking, I gripped his tunic all the tighter and recited the rest of the words. Blue meeting silver, I softly whispered, "Promise?"**

**"Always," Aragorn agreed, sealing with the weight of his lips on mine that, in the next second, vanished. My lover marched steadfastly forward, through the crowd, through the endless darkness, and to war.**

**"Please, Aragorn," I whispered, "Come back to me…"**

* * *

><p>One hour passed, then another, and another, and another still…<p>

Darkness claimed the Caves. Inky black shadows danced through the crevices and cracks in the rocks, hands darting out to caress the frightened figures wandering aimlessly in their midst. We all hurt, all hungered and thirsted, all wanted to stop for much needed breath. Nobody, however, dared to speak up or moan or groan or pause. We couldn't afford it. Not now, seeing as –

BOOM! A battering ram roared loudly from somewhere above us, sounding like it had screamed from the heavens themselves, and the thick wood repeatedly slammed into the protesting front gates. It hit – again, and again, and again – and Eowyn and I flinched, stumbling as one. She hurried forward into the darkness to put greater distance between us and the entrance to the Caves.

My own pace quickened, and I marched stiffly onward, heart beating in time to the drums of war. _No time. No time. No time. No time to breathe, to think, to cry. No time. No time. No time. _

"Blast! I cannot see even an inch ahead," Arianna sourly grumbled out from somewhere in the darkness – ahead, behind, maybe beside us? Ugh. It _echoed._ Made it hard to determine where the cranky healer walked in relation to Eowyn and myself, but I assumed it to be close…

"Preachin' to the choir," I mumbled, though it made no sense to anybody but me, and kicked at the stones rolling underfoot; I stumbled almost _constantly_ because of them. "Damn stones will be the death of us!"

"Better that than the Orcs and Goblins," Ѐothain darkly replied while stomping between us, one calloused hand in the pocket of his breeches and the other wrapped around the hand that his sister had lifted for him to hold about thirty minutes ago.

"Hate Orcs," Little Freda sniffled through the dampness clinging to her button nose. She busied her other hand by sticking its thumb in her mouth, tiredly sucking at it, and mumbled, "Miss the sun, and the warmth, and the light, and…"

"Do not complain," Eowyn chided, her scolding directed at the lot of us, and lifted her hand (at least, I thought it to be her hand) to point above, to Helm's Deep. "It could be far worse and trying, I assure you!"

Arianna, Ѐothain, and I all snorted: "Tch…"

Freda sniffled.

Yeah. A soft glow of torchlight would have been welcome, regardless of what _Eowyn_ said, but all of the torches – even the extras – had flickered out into nothingness hours earlier, their cold embers falling to the oppression of the darkness. Only fear burned brightly in the heart of the dark, dead ashes. Everyone in our group, a group of children and Women, still continued through the darkness. Trusting and blindly following us –

Deeper and _deeper_ and _**deeper **_into the cold, dark, and treacherous depths of Hell.

Sacrificial Lambs…

_Like me._

"We must rest," Eowyn sighed not much later, lifting her slender hands and burying them in her armpits. She had stubbornly tried to remain proper and primly clasped them in front of her for the first few hours of stumbling through the Caves, but…

"Need to keep movin'," I muttered shortly, shivering from the harsh cold that bit into my arms. I clawed at the chilled bits of skin that peeked out from the holes in my green and black tunic, wishing that I could feel it, that I could feel the pain instead of this debilitating numbness.

It would be better than feeling nothing at all…

_One will live. One will die. Sacrifice._

…or would it?

The Shield Maiden wanted to speak, I could tell. Instead, Eowyn stayed silent, letting her body language – drooping head and shoulders, furrowed brow, pursed lips – speak volumes. Pointedly glanced around at the physically, mentally, _and_ emotionally exhausted Rohirrim. A widow, head bowed low, sloshed through the freezing cold water at her bare feet. She slipped and stumbled into another Woman, who sluggishly righted her falling form and moved her to stand between her and two maidens – teenage girls, like I used to be so many years ago.

Teeth clenched, I stubbornly stared straight ahead and ignored the continued plight of all of the bone tired Rohirrim. I ignored their stumbling, their cracked and bleeding feet, and their tearstained faces. Weariness, hunger, and thirst. Pain. Fear.

…I heartlessly ignored it all.

_Who have I become?_

"Nonsense, Sammy! Everyone is fatigued. A brief respite would be wonderful…" She argued through chattering teeth, listening to the loud and desperate demands of her body instead of pushing it past its limits – _like I have been forced to do for the past twenty one years._

Firmly, I continued marching through the silence, through the cold, fear, and uncertainty that ruled the frantically beating hearts of the Rohirrim. Logic neatly coated her softly spoken words; I could hear it, and I wished that I could take part in it, but no. Instead, I dismissed the validity of her worries in favor of heeding the instinctive desire to walk, and walk, and walk – to run away.

I _always_ ran away.

Always.

But…

"No," I stated without inflection – not quiet, loud, polite, **or** rude – and stubbornly continued sloshing up a small vein of the river that pulsed through the mountainside, beneath the fort above, and into the dark belly of the Caves.

…_I stayed to battle Death, didn't I?_

"May I ask why not?" Eowyn demanded, finally losing patience with me – my mood swings **had **been rather hard to deal with since breakfast of the third morning in the Caves – and snapping. Teeth and hands clenched tightly in anger.

My mouth opened, but nothing of importance left it, and I finally shrugged off the rather pathetic attempt to explain it to her. I was uneasy, stomach unsettled with morning sickness and another feeling – a strange feeling of fear, of madness, of paranoia. It continued to eat at me. _No time. No time. No time._

"To be honest, I cannot say," I sighed wearily because while I really **did** want to explain it to her, I couldn't quite find the words. How did I tell her what would happen? How the Hell did I tell somebody that the Gods – _their _Gods, and not mine – talked to me?

"Exactly! You have _no _reason – none at _all_ – to continue this retreat!" Eowyn snapped again and carelessly waved her left hand around without thinking about it. "You are sad and upset, and forcing these emotions out on us is not helping anybody, least of all Ѐothain and Freda!"

Ouch.

_Eowyn plays dirty…. _

"You think only of the need to leave your pain and fear behind, but what of the rest of us? What of Ѐothain and little Freda? What of me? We all hurt! We all fear! You are not the only one!" She cried out, chest heaving with the force of the breath that rushed into her emptying lungs.

Biting back the need to snarl, I whirled around and kicked at the nearest stalagmite, slamming it again and again with the iron toe of the boots Boromir gave me. "…You know what, Princess? Up yours! You don't have the smallest inkling how hard all o' this is for me! Why I do what I do! Why I keep goin'! Why I –"

Sneer. "You are a very selfish Woman!" Eowyn rudely interrupted and lifted her hands in the air in defeat, clearly done with the constant bickering, the arguments that had dominated these conversation for hours. "It is not all about you! We are all hurting! All of us! ALL!"

Like being struck, I reeled backwards, tripping over a sea of damp pebbles and nearly falling down into the abyss. My heart lurched painfully, but I inhaled through it and laughed bitterly. W_hat does Eowyn know about pain and hardship? She lost her parents but was young enough not to remember them. She's lost her cousin, but I lost __**Seth!**__ My TWIN! My father __**hated**__ him! __**ME!**__ He hated everything about us! But King Théoden cared for her and for Eomer, let them live in his keep and live the life of luxury that Seth and I only __**dreamed **__of! Spoiled Princess! _

A hesitant breath, in which Eowyn briefly considered the impact of her next words but damned the consequences, and then –

"Alas! Why should the fate of this world, of its people, mean anything at all? Why should it matter to _you_? You…"

Sweet Freda darted forward with tears streaming down from honey brown eyes, rushing by the Women attempting to hold her back, and desperately clutched at my arm. She rubbed her nose on my arm, over a piece of tunic. Her brother, Ѐothain, hesitantly stepped closer to Eowyn and touched her hand, which the Shield Maiden yanked from his grasp, as an attempt to calm her. Neither of the children could get through to us. We only glared hatefully – at each other, the situation, the world. Everything!

And Eowyn tossed her head back, straight hair falling down her back in waves, and darkly laughed: "**You **are not of Middle Earth."

My control snapped, and I stomped forward to push her, palms slamming into her shoulders and forcing her back several steps. I clenched both fists, letting them hang beside me, and howled, "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!"

"No!" Eowyn snapped, her hand lifted and whirled to the side to banish the fears in my eyes, and in her own. "No, I will _**not!**_ Just because you are with child does not leave Ѐothain and Freda (_and myself_) to be discarded, tossed aside like waste, and –"

"DAMMIT, I'M TRYING TO KEEP THEM **SAFE**!" I screamed into her face, her beautiful and hateful and hopeful face. "I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOU – **ALL** **OF YOU** – SAFE, EOWYN!"

Silence, blackened with the bruises of sticks and stones and words, hit us. We gaped at each other in shock, faces red and chests heaving through the pain, through the regret. So much fear plagued the mind and turned friend to foe. Survival of the fittest made it hard to stay together in times like this one. My forearms trembled with the force of these hateful words that had been ripped out; hers dangled limply at her sides, fingers slowly unclenching from her fists. Red teardrops clung to her fingernails, trickling down from the ten tiny, bloody crescent moons carved into her palms –

Pain. She was in pain. Just like me.

"You forget that **I** have been charged with the welfare of all of the Rohirrim, including the welfare of these little ones," She quietly said to me. My stricken expression made her pause, and Eowyn gentled her next words – "You might be destined to fight like in the Tales of Old, but not _one_ ever speaks of its heroes fighting their battles alone, Sammy."

"Aye! Lady Eowyn has the right of it. Nobody should be alone," A Woman murmured to us and cradled her youngest daughter, holding the adolescent girl tightly and without shame. "…Never…"

_No. Nobody. Never! We stand tall! We fight! We stand tall, together, and fight for Rohan! For Middle Earth! _

Others quietly echoed her sentiments, their voices subdued but warm and strong and _alive _with conviction and the strength of Rohan, of Middle Earth. Frightened though the Rohirrim Women might be, the fire of their bravery still burned deep within their souls, like the welcoming fires in the hearths of their homes. Some might lose these homes. Some might lose husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons. Some might lose them all. But Rohan would live on.

Eyes closed, I crossed both arms over my chest, hugging the cold emptiness that echoed inside of me and praying for strength. "I…I…I don't want anybody to get hurt," I brokenly whispered to her.

"We are our own people, Sammy. It is our choice to fight or run away – _ours,_ and not yours," Eowyn murmured to me as my ear pressed against her neck, head beside hers, "You must also think of the child, and of Aragorn."

My heartbeat slowed. _…Aragorn? What would Aragorn think? What would Aragorn do? Say? _

Calm washed through me, over my eyes, mind, and heart, and I savored the peace and tranquility that I could find in simply thinking of the Man I loved with everything within me. I breathed in. Declared: "We must live."

"Agreed," My friend firmly said, with just the barest hint of dry humor trickling into her short response. Hands clasped in front of her, Eowyn glanced around her people, who stared back with trust and determination, and then turned back to me. "We rest. We plan. We move."

"Sounds good to me," I responded in kind, and while smiling, both lips pulled back high enough to meet my eyes and close them against the expression of fear carefully concealed behind her beautiful brown eyes. She walked off to herd the others, but I continued to stand there, just smiling.

But I found the smile to be false because although I smiled, I wanted to cry. I wanted to hit and kick something. I wanted to break down and beg for her forgiveness. But Eowyn said nothing else of the matter, and because Eowyn did not speak up or apologize, _I _decided not to, either. My mouth did not open. My thoughts, however, continued to zip around at top speed –

_How could I do it? How could I treat her like __**dirt**__ when Eowyn has been nothing but kind to me? She's slipped here and there, sometimes saying something rude, but her pain is not less than my own…_

Sickness settled inside, burning like bile in the stomach and tears in the eyes. _How could I have thought those things of Eowyn, much less __**said **__them to her? God, I'm awful… _

Automatically, I followed her, letting her lead the way as a sea of people moved forward to hear of what would become of them, of what Eowyn and I would do to keep them safe. She opened her mouth, face lifted and shoulders poised with grace, and told them of **The Plan.** We would remain here and rest, eating minimally and helping ourselves to the water, and then continue onward again. We would leave the Caves. Meet the Men. Head to Gondor. Live.

_We grew up in different worlds – figuratively __**and **__literally. Nothing will change the fact that I am more rash and contradictory and selfish than Eowyn. Nothing will change the fact that Eowyn is more considerate of others and desperate to please. _

My chest burned, heart pounding with a sudden resolve, though I had to fight to stay awake long enough to make it as a yawn pulled at tightly sealed lips. _She and I'll become stronger, though. We'll be stronger than our pasts and mistakes and flaws. We will… _

In the distance, I heard her – Eowyn softly conversed with her people in the rough cadences of their native tongue. Long legs carried her swiftly around the vast space, and Women gathered around her to listen to her, finding solace in her sweet promise of tomorrow: Tomorrow would be here _soon._ The Men would be here _soon._ The War would be over _soon._

We would all live Happily Ever After.

_Soon, soon, soon…_

Eyes drifting shut, I sighed in relief and savored the warmth of the two children curled against me, my own warmth lulling them to sleep within minutes. I carded both hands through their hair, curling and winding and twisting the locks between slender fingers, and thought of the small, innocent child growing inside of me. All three of these children, though the third remained unborn, were so very important – to Rohan, to Middle Earth, and to me.

Finally, I gave in to the need to rest, to hope and dream for that beautifully golden tomorrow, and I succumbed to sleep. Dream I did, too…

* * *

><p>"…'<em>Siulil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin. Siulil go doras agus claigh lion,<em>'"A beautiful Elf hummed, the honey sweet words echoing softly from within the center of the fields of forest greenery.

A bluebird soared through the air to land at her feet, poking at the ground and searching for food, all the while listening to her sing. The Elf glided from plant to plant, animal to animal, talking to them all and doing her absolute best to keep them healthy – like I used to do at the Ranch. She continued to hum bits and pieces of the melody, singing only the chorus for the longest time, much like **I **did if deep in thought. If worried…

Wait. Wait, wait, wait! My brow furrowed because I recognized – actually _recognized_– this song as one of Earth. An Elf of Middle Earth, I dumbly noted in that moment, was moving around within Lothlórien and sweetly singing it. "_…_'_Siulil A Run,_'"I slowly recalled.

The Elf whirled around – in happiness, not surprise – and smiled wide enough to flash straight white teeth and dimples at me. I gaped at her with wide eyes, stumped into silence again, and tried to place the mischievous expression. While I hadn't met her before, I had the strangest sensation of déjà vu. Like I might actually **know **her…

Pink lips parted, and the Elf cheerfully returned to her singing, this time with gusto. She laughed sweetly, the sound ringing like bells, and proudly sang, "'_I wish I was on yonder hill. It is there I'd sit and cry my fill, 'til every tear would turn a mill._'"

"_Who are you?_" I hesitantly asked her, with hands clenched in the white dress that I suddenly found myself to be wearing. My fingers, clean and healed, burrowed into the soft material, searching for purchase and comfort. I wanted to know her, her name, and yet…

An echo of the past, of Oromë speaking to me, returned: _One shall be born of memories._

_It isn't Seth,_ I mused in the silence, _is it?_

"_It's you…"_ I whispered.

She did not respond, to the question or statement, and instead beckoned with her finger to follow behind her. We walked – for what seemed like miles and miles – and I trailed along behind the thin, white train of her satin gown. Hours seemed to skate by, but I did not complain. I only followed in her wake, like I would with my older brother, his lover and mine, and all of the friends we'd made here. Believed it must be because I felt safe with her. Protected by her. Loved…

"'_I will sell my rod. I will sell my reel. I will sell my only spinning wheel…_'" She continued, her hands parting to gesture to a sword stuck in a giant stone, its exterior akin to the loyal blade, Anduril,"_…_'_To buy my lover a sword of steel!_'"

My heart clenched, and I thought of Aragorn, and of all the people that I loved beyond words – Seth and Boromir. Legolas and Gimli. Eowyn and Eomer. Ѐothain and Freda. The Rohirrim. All of them were standing together, defending each other, and fighting for their lives, for the lives of their families and friends, in the bloodied battlegrounds of Helm's Deep.

Like I should be…

"'_I will dye my petticoats. I will dye them red, and round the world, I will beg my bread…_'" A pair of blue irises caught mine. She stared down at me, sad and forlorn, and slowly halted her movements, hand leaving the handle of the sword that had been grasped between her fingers. "_…_'_until my parents shall wish me dead._'"

Oh, God. She _knew _me_._ I could tell in the sadness of her expression that this Elf, who might just be like the Lady Galadriel, could hear or see my memories from Earth. Nothing would be kept secret, least of all the Daddy that I used to love through thick and thin, through the blood and tears caused by his hand. My death might've given me a second chance, but I still carried the scarred memories of the past. The Elf, oblivious to my worries, finished her song.

Pain rippled through me, my eyes and heart stinging with emotions best left under chains, under lock and key. I smiled at her, and though it hurt to smile, I was sincere when I complimented, "_You sing beautifully…_"

"_Your father used to say as much,_" The Elf softly said to me, a wistful note in her delicate voice that I usually had if Aragorn had left without me or was not expected back for quite awhile. A hand reached out to touch the sword again.

"_My…?_" I started, but I did not need to finish because in that moment, I put all of the pieces – the broken, shattered pieces – together. A head of lightly colored hair, blue irises identical to mine, and the expression with the dimples…

My big brother always smiled liked that at me.

_You are my sunshine, Seth Ray Steel._

"_Oh…" _I gasped in shock.

"_You, Samantha,_" The Elf whispered, and with her head to the side, scanned head to shoulder, hip to toe, and smiled, "_have grown up a wonderful, thoughtful, and brave young woman._"

"_Thank you,_" I breathed, knowing that these qualities were something I'd strived to emulate for months. Strength of the mind and the heart, rather than the body, and the willingness to stand tall for what – and who – I believed in.

It felt good to be recognized for these traits rather than the flaws that still made me a person, and I loved that Aragorn and the others could tell I had changed, but that this Elf in particular would speak such words really made me want to burst with happiness and pride. Laughter twinkled deep inside of me. _You, Samantha May Steel, shine like the stars._

"_What happens now?_" I asked, glancing from her, to the forest, and to the fires climbing up and down the boundaries of Lothlórien. My vision shimmered, flickering from scenes at Helm's Deep, to the Path of the Dead, and to Gondor.

"_A division of friendship, though temporary, must occur,_" The Elf – Eva, I remembered her name a soft, thoughtful moment later – sighed in regret and then motioned to and fro with her dainty hands. "_Some will travel here, there, and here __**and**__ there._"

Confused with this cryptic explanation, I stared at her, and confusion turned to horror because I would not know how to plan ahead – to keep everybody safe – without this information. So I inhaled, mouth open, and tried not to completely freak out while I conversed with her. Words did not come. Panic, however…?

"_Fear not, Tinu,_" Eva murmured, and her demur expression became set and determined. She removed the sword from the stone, sheathed it, and solemnly strapped it to her back. "_Soon I will be there, with you._" A small, wistful smile crossed her lips. "_As I always should have been…_"

"_You always were,_" I whispered, touching fingers to my chest, above the heart that beat strongly there. "_You always have been, but I wasn't wise enough to know it…_" I smiled brightly at her. "_But I know it now, and nothing will make it possible to forget you._"

"_Oh, Child,_"Eva murmured, before reaching out and, for the first time, curling her arms over me, over my shoulders and back, and buried her face in my crown. "_You will be a wonderful mother – and Queen._"

Laughter echoed in the forest, and I hugged the waist of the beautiful phantom that faded from sight, evaporating like rainwater and slowly disappearing in the mist. Only velvet blue irises remained to shimmer in the sunlight. Somewhere inside, Sammy – the lonely child I buried long, long ago – stirred from her slumber. She smiled at the warmth fluttering in her heart.

A voice called to me. "_Mama!_"

I turned to find her there.

Golden hair.

Silver eyes.

"_Mama!_"

* * *

><p>"Mama…!"<p>

Two voices cried out in happiness, before another joined them and called out to the two children. Ѐothain and Freda darted to her without another thought, their hands outstretched to be touched. A Rohirrim Woman with tearstained cheeks clutched them to her bosom, stick thin limbs curled around both of her children. Soft brown eyes glanced upwards, and within their depths, I found Freda staring back at me. When the Woman smiled, however, I thought of Ѐothain. No doubt about it…

We had finally found their mother.

I smiled faintly. _Mine, too._

"Thank you so very much for caring 'bout them," The Woman whispered, her voice low and rich with the cadence of the farm folk. She, like Seth and I, sounded different. A familiar feeling of warmth rushed through me.

"You're welcome," I softly said because the feelings of shock and happiness still burned deep inside of me, a warm and beautiful fire that fluttered the insides. I rubbed at the sleep in my eyes.

She smiled at me, and then turned her attention to her little ones. "Ѐothain, I am _so_ proud of you. You have taken great care o' your sister. And Freda! You have made certain to help, I'm sure," The Woman said – her oldest child proudly puffed out his chest and her youngest beamed.

"Of course, Ma," Ѐothain gruffly murmured, and his face reddened from the embarrassment of being praised. He grinned, though, and hugged his mother around her waist, his relief at being reunited with her clear for all to see.

"Yes! We're safe, Mama! Ѐothain cared for me, and I cared for him, and Lady Sissy cared for both of us! Lady Eowyn, too," Freda explained in a warm rush of short words and phrases that would have been hard to understand if I'd not been with them for this long.

The Rohirrim Woman lifted her suspicious gaze, eyes on me, and hummed in thought. "It's very much appreciated, although I wonder why…?" She trailed off to keep her children from catching wind of her concerns.

Why would I feed them, clothe and bathe them, and keep them safe?

What did I expect in return?

_Nothing…_

Blue irises wandered to her children, the both of whom had yet to leave her side, to release their ironclad grip from her billowing skirts. I smiled fondly down at the pair, tenderness welling in me. "I love them."

"As do I," The Woman murmured, before her brown eyes gleamed with recognition. A blush painted her dirty, tan cheeks. "Dear! How rude o' me! I'm Morwen, Daughter of Ellawén." She glanced from Eowyn to myself. "You must be the Ladies Eowyn and Samantha."

"Yes, I am the Lady Eowyn," My friend said; then, Eowyn gracefully moved forward to clasp her kinsmen around her shoulder and forearm, something done between all of the Rohirrim Women. She kissed her forehead. "It is good to see you are well, Morwen."

"Milady," Morwen politely thanked her with her title, but the warmth in her eyes and her smile belied this gesture; it whispered of gratefulness beyond speech. She released the noblewoman and headed to me, arms outstretched.

Shyly, I leaned into the embrace, though her arms were sweaty and hardened with the muscles of farm labor, much like mine. I awkwardly hugged her back because I did not know how to return the gesture. My knowledge of their customs wasn't empty, but lacking in substance. It did not help that I had yet to find out where I would be stand in their hierarchy, either. While I might have tended to horses and cattle before, I didn't do it now, and I did not cook, clean, and keep house.

So…

Where did that leave me?

We – Eowyn, Morwen, and I – rested together while I continued to muse on my place in the world, in Middle Earth. Would I become the Queen that Aragorn and Eva thought I could be? Would I make them proud? We sat there for what seemed like hours, listening to the cries of Men, of Women, and of children. We trembled with the force of the thuds of battering rams moving against the fortress. We were still and silent with anxiety, holding the frightened Ѐothain and Freda to us.

"We lost Ѐorain ta war," Morwen quietly explained, downcast with the memory of her husband leaving to defend their lands, and not returning. She smiled at her children, Ѐothain and Freda, who had drifted off to sleep. "My children are all that I have left, Lady Samantha." Solemn chocolate eyes met mine. "For me and their father, I thank you."

"You needn't thank me so much," I mumbled, feeling shy and awkward with the praise which, coming from Eva, had meant the world to me. Seemed different, though, like Morwen wanted not to praise but to…_revere _me. "I'm sure anybody else would have done the same."

"No," Morwen darkly interrupted, before lowering her voice at the startled expression I adopted for her harsh disagreement. "No, I really don't think many young people woulda taken in such younglings without wanting something in return, but you…" She touched her left hand to my cheek. "You cared for them like…a mother."

Blushing, I placed trembling fingers to her hand, letting them curl around hers. My belly seemed lighter than air, and also heavier than stone, in that single instant. I touched gentle fingertips to it – my sweet little Faith.

"You are with child," Morwen breathed, clasping her hands together in wonder. I shyly smiled at her in confirmation, though Morwen needed little of it. She was a mother. She _knew._ Just like my own…

KABOOM! Warfare exploded above again, and the Rohirrim screamed, shrieked, and cried with to release their overwhelming fears. My magic, still hot from the vividness of the earlier dream, burned within and along the scars on my arms. Magic lit them with blue fire, and I coaxed it to leave my warm skin to reach out to the frightened people, who started to calm and stare the musical notes with wonder and hope.

"'_I hear a baby crying, a sad song, a lonely sound…I want to take her in my arms and then I dry away all her tears," _I sang and thought of Ѐothain, then Freda, "_I see a boy who's frightened, a young boy, with old eyes. I long to say you're welcome here, you can be happy here now that you're home. We're all a part of one world. We can all share the same dream…_'"

Eyes soft, I shifted to stare at Eowyn, who leaned her head down to place it against my arm and shoulder. I leaned against her in turn and finished, "'_If you just reach out to me, then you will find, deep down inside, I'm just like you…_'"

Victory cries filled the night air, and Morwen, Eowyn, and I burst into peals of loud, hysterical laughter, tears in our eyes as we clutched tightly to each other. _You are not of Middle Earth. _I thought of those words, of how I did not belong, and I knew that it wasn't true. I belonged. Right here. Right now.

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Hi! :) _Thanks for the lovely feedback!_ We have reached the end of Helm's Deep. Sammy and Eowyn have been fighting, but it has made them stronger, Ѐothain and Freda have been reunited with their mother, Morwen, and Sammy knows her mother, Eva is somewhere out there in Middle Earth with information about the future that even the usually well-informed Sammy does not have in her arsenal! Angst shall definitely ensue!

**Note 1: **Lines show the dream sequence! _Siulil Run, _by Celtic Women, is the song in the dream. _One World, _by Celtic Women, is also the song at the end of this chapter, which I think fits perfectly to the entire Helm's Deep Arc. You should listen to it! YouTube is a wonderful place. ;)

**Note 2: **Sammy's mother, **Eva**, plays an important part in the upcoming chapters that lead to the Path of the Dead Arc. _Any thoughts about what this part will be?_ **_Lemme know in your review, please!_**

Up Next In The Story: SARUMAN! Dun, dun, dun! :)

**Please Read and Review!**

_Update =_ _Around 525ish_


	39. Chapter 38: Me, Myself, and I

~Chapter Thirty Eight~

Me, Myself, and I

_Take Me Down To The River-Bend.  
>Take Me Down To The Fighting End.<br>Wash The Poison From Off My Skin.  
>Show Me How To Be Whole Again.<em>

_Bring Me Home In A Blinding Dream,  
>Through The Secrets That I Have Seen.<br>Wash The Sorrow From Off My Skin.  
>Show Me How To Be Whole Again.<em>

'_Cause I'm Only A Crack.  
>In This Castle Of Glass.<em>

_~Castle of Glass, _by Linkin Park

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"'<em>I hear a baby crying, a sad song, a lonely sound…I want to take her in my arms and then I dry away all her tears," <em>I sang and thought of Ѐothain, then Freda, "_I see a boy who's frightened, a young boy, with old eyes. I long to say you're welcome here, you can be happy here now that you're home. We're all a part of one world. We can all share the same dream…_'"**

**Eyes soft, I shifted to stare at Eowyn, who leaned her head down to place it against my arm and shoulder. I leaned against her in turn and finished, "'_If you just reach out to me, then you will find, deep down inside, I'm just like you…_'"**

**Victory cries filled the night air, and Morwen, Eowyn, and I burst into peals of loud, hysterical laughter, tears in our eyes as we clutched tightly to each other. _You are not of Middle Earth. _I thought of those words, of how I did not belong, and I knew that it wasn't true. I belonged. Right here. Right now.**

* * *

><p>"Now?"<p>

"No, Gimli."

"How 'bout now?"

Sigh. "Please. Smite me where I stand, Eru…"

My smile brightened, and I positively _beamed_ at everybody, simply because I _could_ and I wanted to do so. I probably looked completely moronic, but really, who cared? Not me! My family and friends were all back together again, rather than separated by station, duty, time, place, and the other supposedly defining characteristics that people used to pigeon hole others. Middle Earth, like Earth, was chock full of discriminatory and racist bigots. Races weren't supposed to mix here. Men and Women weren't equal. Blah, blah, blah. And…I…did…not…care.

People did not define **me.** As Eowyn mentioned, I could not, and should not, attempt to control and define others, either. Icould take charge of myself and define who I was and wanted to be, though. And I rather liked myself – for the most part, anyway. Still lots to work on!

Who said that I had to do it all right this moment, though? I was young, with plenty of time to try and become kinder, braver, and smarter. I should live in _this _moment and in _this_ skin, with _these _people. I should not live in the past, with Daddy. Should not live in the future, with the people I thought should live. I wasn't God. Heir of Manwë, but still Sammy.

Just Sammy…

Content, I placed both hands over my swollen belly, happily petting the pronounced bump of the child growing inside of me, and smoothing the white tunic covering me – and her. Aragorn often glanced back to me, a protective flame burning in his silver irises, and smiled warmly at the sight of me, palms to stomach. I smiled back at him with the same warmth and love in my eyes, and I continued to smile long after Aragorn had turned back around to keep a wary eye on the road ahead. And Aragorn continued forward, shoulders squared and head held high. My King_. _

"Oh! Hello there," I breathed, making Gimli and Seth startle, but I reassured them with a wave and mumble. A small fluttering of soft movement within me served to remind that Faith and I would need to eat and rest soon. We would, but not until I reached the destination of this little adventure to –

"We reach Isengard yet?" Gimli questioned, the glimmer of amusement in his small, chocolate irises betraying the seriousness of his expression, though only I could really tell right now. We were seated close together, sharing Orion.

Funnily enough, Gimli had been rather clingy lately. He, like most Dwarrows, was incredibly protective of females – especially _pregnant _females. In addition to wanting to keep an eye on me and _the little lass _(his choice of words, not mine), however, Gimli wanted to actually lead (boss) the horse for once, since Legolas usually led theirs. And to be honest, I did not feel like doing anything but sitting here and staring off into space, anyway. Thinking. Praying…

_Please Oromë, I know that I bug you and that I should be doing this by myself, but Eowyn said I should ask for help, _I whispered to the Vala in my mind, and the answering rustle of leaves and the distant sound of hunting horns made it easier to plead: _So – uh –pretty __**please**__ help me out here and keep Merry 'n Pippin safe! _

A soft thrum of masculine voices sang over my warm skin, and Manwë and Oromë hummed in agreement together, their countenance warm and reassuring enough that I relaxed. My stomach settled, the feeling of anxiety subsiding for the first time in six long days. I sighed and leaned against Gimli, listening to the humming inside and the flow of light conversation; Gimli continued to playfully poke fun at Boromir, and Boromir continued to take the bait.

"No!" Boromir grunted, lifting his hands once and snapping the reigns to get Arod to canter by the smirking Dwarf. My Guardian huffed out in the cold mist of the forest and exhaled, "I said _earlier_ that we will not be there for another half hour – at the _least_, might I add – and I shall stand by that statement!"

The Gondorian seemed quite put out by that fact, but it might have less to do with Gimli than it did with the long length of traveling looming over us again. We were not exhausted; however, traveling constantly and with haste did take its toll upon a person. The Fellowship had traveled swiftly, and often without reprieve, from Lothlórien to the Ridemark, from the Ridemark to Fangorn, from Fangorn to Edoras, and from Edoras to Helm's Deep. Then…

Another month had passed before Gandalf caught wind of Merry and Pippin. Two weeks prior, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and I had returned, triumphant, to Rohan. The Rohirrim, led by King Théoden, Eomer, Eowyn, and – to _his_ embarrassment – Seth, walked into their keep and began their lives anew. Edoras graciously offered to play host to the Fellowship again, and if not busy with meetings and preparations, Aragorn stayed with me, a constant companion. We spent much of that time getting to know the other better – sharing stories of childhood, reading books together in the library, and playing cards or games. I would sing. Sometimes, Aragorn would sing with me.

What did I learn about him, then? At fifteen, Aragorn accidentally turned his skin blue for a week. One should not, Aragorn muttered, aimlessly wander amidst the plants and flowers in the beautiful, but wild, forests of Rivendell. Do **not** trust Elrohir and Elladan, either. Neither would truthfully point out the fauna and foliage that should be avoided, too invested in watching their little brother make mistakes and walk straight into embarrassing situations like this one.

My lover scowled during the retelling of this story, and all the others that featured his fumbles and stumbles into adulthood, but Aragorn also lit up and talked animatedly about his brothers and sister. He loved them all dearly; I could tell. It made me warm and hopeful inside to see such devotion to his adoptive family. Aragorn would be a wonderful husband and father…

So inspired by his honesty and willingness to talk to me about such silly memories, I found the courage to open up and tell him the whole story about Daddy, Seth, and I – from the beginning. I told him of growing up sad and hungry and confused, of the beatings, of the verbal abuse, and of falling into the protective shadow of Seth. Boy, girl. Strength, brains. Sun, moon. We always shoved ourselves into cookie cutter molds in the hopes of making people like us.

_I wish for a reason to live again, for someone to love, and for that someone to love me back._

_I wish…_

Eventually, I started to talk about the happier stories, like when Seth decided to spend most of his time whittling this old log into a really cool baseball bat. (Here, I had to explain to him the odd concept of sports and entertainment and other oddities from Earth). He aimed for the fence but only managed to trip me and hit himself in the leg, instead. Our bulls, Big and Bad, chased him through two pastures for disturbing their peace. Other stories – of swimming in the pond and chasing frogs, of riding horses together, of singing and dancing and making silly faces at each other to scare away worries and nightmares – followed behind that one.

Again, I found myself reading all the time, and I loved that I could just hide in the library or our rooms, snuggle into his side, and read for hours. He liked reading historic accounts and tales of heroic deeds but absolutely _loved_ myths and fables. My lover could often be found resting his head in my arms and lap, face turned towards me, reading to my stomach – to his little Faith. Fairytales, with beautiful characters and foreign lands and happy endings, were sweetly murmured to her.

With each passing day, I also learned that I could fall deeper and deeper in love with Aragorn, with the thought of marrying him, living with him, and adding to this family. Together. My Hope. Our Faith. Ours…

As if sensing these thoughts, Aragorn turned around again to check on me – and for probably the fifteenth time in the last two hours. My cheeks pinked, and I smiled shyly at the handsome Man, letting him know without meaning to that I had been thinking of him. I nervously moistened dry lips with my wet tongue and shifted restlessly in the saddle. Silver eyes were suddenly dark and full of promises that I could clearly read from here; I fidgeted. A recent conversation between Aragorn and I leapt to mind without invitation.

Smirking, Aragorn flashed his teeth at me and then turned back around, but not before mouthing the exact line of thought that had just brazenly pranced into my mind: _If I asked nicely, _Aragorn had lovingly brushed his hands down my rear and practically purred in my ear,_ would I be able to convince you to try something with me? After Isengard? _

Blue irises glared hotly at the back of his head, and I silently willed his long, black hair to gray even more. Crazy Ranger only chuckled softly to himself, obviously feeling the weight of the glare I leveled at him, and I huffed. _And Aragorn calls __**me**__ a minx! Ha! _

A small smirk curled pink lips up. "Gimli," I muttered in his ear and tapped his shoulder, waited for him to turn his head to me in acknowledgement, and continued, "You know what'll _really _make Boromir crazy?" _Simultaneously driving Aragorn batty, too? Hehehehe!_

"Aye, Lass?" The Dwarf leaned closer in anticipation, a quick flash of playful mischief in his expression, and I grinned down at him. I whispered, "Okay! First, Aragorn needs to be **right** beside us. …Yes, I'm sure. ….**RIGHT** beside us. Wait for Boromir. You need to say –"

Dutifully, Gimli lifted his hand in the air, but only briefly because Orion mischievously tried to veer away and take off into the Wild. He cursed (uh, _admonished_) the handsome beast in Khuzdul, who merely snorted at him, and then Gimli cheerfully parroted, "We there yet, Boromir?"

"Not _yet,_ Gimli…" Boromir sighed through his nose and hunched forward, before remembering his station amongst the nobility and promptly straightening his shoulders again. The Gondorian squared them and stoically stared ahead, directing the weight of his dark glare to the amused Elf.

My Aragorn circled the group and glanced between the black slivers between the trees crowding the forest, checking for enemies. Satisfied that nothing untoward, with the exception of several squirrels, lurked in the old underbrush, Aragorn returned to us and then started directing Brego forward, to the front of the line. Brego lifted his dark head and tossed it back and forth, which stopped the pair directly beside us, as good luck would have it. So, Aragorn paused to gently brush his forelock with his hands, and then – "Now!" I whispered.

"ARE WE THERE YET?" Gimli hollered, loud enough to piss Boromir off and thoroughly scare a crazy old Ranger. He repeated this question amidst the fuming of the former, the cursing of the latter (in Elvish, of course), and the laughter I attempted to hide in his curly red hair, though with little success. My snickers of absolute delight climbed in and out of his hair like spiders.

From ahead, Legolas briefly shot me an expression of (somewhat pained) mirth, rightly guessing the culprit that had taken the time to teach Gimli this particular phrase and constantly encourage his mischief. My brother, from his spot in the saddle atop Aglæca, clutched his ribs and tossed his head back, silent tears of laughter falling from his green eyes. Could not breathe from the look of it, but – oh, well! Friendly fire, casualties of war, and all that good stuff!

"…Bloody Hell!" Boromir finally cracked, his expression darkening like storm clouds and voice thundering, positively crackling like golden lightning and fire. If Smaug the Terrible were ever to be reincarnated, then it would be in _this_ Man, Ladies and Gentlemen! "Do **shut** it, Master Dwarf!"

Meanwhile, I fidgeted and tried to keep quiet to avoid his attention, knowing my status of being engaged and pregnant would not keep him from chewing me out. In fact, Aragorn and Boromir – and sometimes Gimli – had taken it as a chance to keep an eye on me and criticize everything I did because, and I quote, "It's dangerous." Legolas did not scold, but the disappointment in his eyes was more than enough to make me squirm; I often listened to him better than I did the others. Attempting to scare my good friends, Aragorn and Boromir, would probably be considered _big, _and _bad, _and _dangerous, _but…

Damn! It was so much fun!

"As for _you_…" My Guardian darkly started, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken because his expression – which promised retribution of the highest form – did all of the talking for him. _You, Little One, are going to __**pay. **_

Brightly, I grinned straight at him and spread both hands wide in a gesture of complete innocence. _Who, __**me**__? _No one, save perhaps the two Rohirrim that loyally trailed after King Théoden, believed the act. All else present within the caravan – Aragorn and Boromir and Seth, Legolas and Gimli, Gandalf, and King Théoden – were much too familiar with the mischief that still clawed its way up to the surface sometimes. Case in point: Aragorn had righted himself from his close call of falling off Brego and tried to bite back his smile, and Legolas and Seth exchanged quick glances of amusement. The King and the Wizard merely sighed – not _accepting_ the teasing, but not _forbidding_ it, either. Everyone else laughed heartily.

As for my wonderful friend, Gimli…

"…what 'bout now?"

I snorted.

"QUIET!" My Guardian _uncharacteristically_ lost his temper and roared. A lethal glare from his gray eyes zoomed in and burned holes in the metal helmet Gimli wore. Everyone, including King Théoden and Gandalf, burst into laughter this time.

"Who pissed in _his _cornflakes this mornin'?" Seth loudly whispered to me, and when Boromir slowly turned to face _him _with daggers in his eyes, my crazy ass older brother waggled his fingers at the Gondorian Man.

"Probably _you,_" I retorted, before Aragorn predictably made a motion to be quiet. Initially, I had thought him to be playing the part of killjoy and debated ignoring the motion, but since I trusted his judgment, I decided to listen to him. And I noticed something rather strange…

Laughter. I…I could hear laughter!

_What the Hell?_

The King of Rohan set his face in stone and grumpily demanded, "Who makes such sounds of happiness in times these dark?" A miserable scowl chiseled itself deep – and by deep, I mean _really _deep – into the stone of his cheeks and chin and the bit of flesh around his eyes.

"Yer mama," Seth muttered, the punch line escaping out from between his lips out of habit. He promptly paled with the realization that not only had that been insulting to the _King of Rohan,_ but also to his (possibly, probably, definitely) _future father-in-law._ Idiot.

Sighing, I scratched at my nose and leaned against Gimli. Eowyn thought it best I not decide things for others or put myself in the middle of things. I agreed with her, but I still had trouble restraining myself, especially if it concerned Seth. Eventually, however, I learned that busying myself with counting nearby objects could take the edge off. I currently managed to ignore the need to meddle in the (love) affairs of others by counting trees. _One, two, three, four, five…_

"A light ahead in the distance," Legolas cried in the excitement of finally leaving the confines of this dark, damp, and dank forest – and if the _Woodland Elf _wanted to leave the forest, then it should be clear just how bad it really was now. We all cheered, though Gimli cheered the loudest to continue his antics. Boromir playfully threatened him with his fist.

Minutes passed, but Legolas continually pursued the sliver of golden light that nobody else could yet see. Aragorn and Brego loyally followed behind him, his natural leadership and the decision to let another take charge for the moment inspiring the others to do the same. I poked Gimli, who had stopped to have a staring contest with two squirrels, in the side. We escaped the darkness of the trees soon enough, only to hear –

"Welcome!" Pippin cried solemnly, and shortly, too. The Hobbit choked, breaking into cheerful laughter because the shock in our eyes was apparently too much to handle; thus, his companion had to take over. Bowing briefly, Merry smirked at us and boldly declared, "You, Lords and Lady, are most welcome in Isengard!"

"You…" Gimli started, all previous amusement at annoying Boromir vanishing like smoke from a recently extinguished candle, and gritted his thankfully strong teeth together. Sputtered, sucked in his breath, and then hollered, "YOU YOUNG RASCALS!"

"Strange," I drawled teasingly and turned to whisper loudly to Aragorn, "but I remember Gimli calling _me _and _Seth_ rascals only yesterday morning, when Seth stole his bacon and I handed it off to you!" I pretended to be upset and sniffled for effect. "…Should I be worried?"

My lover had smiled brightly with the relief of finding Merry and Pippin alive and well, but at this playful question, Aragorn burst into laughter, the sound lighthearted. It made me smile in turn, and I leaned to the left in the saddle, enough that I could reach his cheek and kiss it. The Ranger blushed faintly at the tender gesture – and the teasing whistles that erupted from the Rohirrim Guards – but had given me a rewarding glimpse of his beautifully shy and sweet lopsided grin. We immediately turned back to the Hobbits, who appeared to be fine – er, physically, at least. Jury was still out about their mental health…

_Whatever! I'm just happy that Merry and Pippin are alive! Thank God that nothing bad happened to either of them. No,_ I swiftly corrected myself, sharing his relief and feeling positively dizzy with its sheer strength, _Thank the __**Valar! **__Thank you so much!_

The Dwarf, however, did not share our good cheer. "We were worried 'bout ya and here ya are – smoking and drinking and **feasting**!" Gimli continued to complain, and quite loudly, too. All could tell that the gruff Dwarrow was merely embarrassed to admit his being worried about anybody, though.

"We –" Here, Pippin gestured to Merry and himself with the utmost importance and then piped in with a playful argument, "– have worked incredibly hard these last few weeks and have been given a chance to enjoy several creature comforts."

Smirking, Merry nudged his partner-in-crime in the shoulder, pushing him about with his – my mouth turned down with sorrow – rather thin and pointy elbow. He winked at us as everybody but Gimli caught his drift and slyly added, "Salted pork is especially good, I might add!"

A bright grin claimed his lips and chubby cheeks, but Pippin played along and obediently (and exaggeratedly, of course,) reported, "Oh! Aye! It is quite thick and juicy, almost like the ham back in the Shire. Pork is probably better than the ale, too!"

"…Salted pork?" Gimli mumbled, throat dry and scratchy at the thought of partaking in such tasty treats, and cleared it to huff in annoyance. He had clearly forgotten his worries _and _his embarrassment as envy gnawed at him. "Ale…!"

Without warning, I perked right up, my mouth watering, and blurted, "Oh, oh, oh! I want _ginger_ ale! Lemon drops, too. Enchiladas, and pickles, and bananas, and fish sticks, and chocolate, and…" A number of other strange and outlandish foods fired off in rapid succession.

My Twin nearly vomited right then and there. Everyone else, meanwhile, stared at me in confusion, clearly missing the strangeness of this long list. Gimli actually sounded hungrier now, which scared Seth further. Why? Only _Seth _had tasted all of these foods before, you see, and only _Seth_ comprehended that most of them should** not **be mixed together. My brother shuddered at the combination and turned jade green, a shade lighter than his eyes.

Eyes closed in disgust, Seth slowly explained, "Shit, I'm goin' to toss my cookies! Sammy is finally startin' to get cravings, and for all sorts o' really _weird _stuff, too. Nasty, Twin! Just nasty…" My brother directed this last bit at me.

"Wonderful!" Legolas cried ecstatically. He cheerfully started to list all of the wonderful foods and beverages that I could eat when Aragorn and I visited his people deep within the Woodland Realm. "– Father loves cherry cobbler. I quite like it as well, though Eva always complained to him about wanting apple pie once and awhile, and –"

The Elf appeared incredibly happy because I wanted to eat on my own volition, and without him forcing anything on me. Aragorn, however, was strangely terrified of this sudden development and only muttered, "…Why me?"

Clucking his tongue, Gandalf ignored this pointless (to _him,_ anyway) conversation and moved closer to the Hobbits. The Wizard eyed them reprovingly and opened his mouth to speak, but Merry cut him off, clearly sensing the impending lecture. Which neither wanted to hear. "Worry not, Gandalf! Pippin and I have been given orders by Treebeard!"

"Ah, then Treebeard _is _here?" Gandalf softly mused and blinked thoughtfully behind the pair of (alive, alive, _alive_) Hobbits, toward the imposing tower looming in the distance. Frowned in concern. "Where, exactly, might I find him?"

While Pippin only shrugged his small shoulders, Merry dutifully pointed and said, "Treebeard and the other Ents have gathered back there to discuss something, but Pip and I left because of how long it usually takes them to finish." The Hobbit rolled his bright blue eyes, and Pippin giggled around the mouth of his pipe.

Inclining his head in thanks, Gandalf maneuvered his horse through the small lake of water that erupted from behind the broken dams like geysers only hours before. King Théoden, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and the Rohirrim Guards quickly followed suit and urged their horses to catch up. Before leaving, Aragorn cast me a curious glance, and though silent, I heard the question loud and clear: _Are you coming, Little One? _

_Soon, _I smiled at him and waved lightly with four fingers, wiggling them. My Ranger seemed tense, disapproving of this decision, but acquiesced, his lips tight enough to send another thought – _Be careful, the both of you. _Dropping into a small, teasing curtsy, I winked at him – _Of course! Aren't I always? _A snort whistled out from between his teeth, which clearly meant – _Hardly. _Still, Aragorn left to meet the others, although I had the sneaking suspicion that it was only because Seth stayed with me.

My Twin and I didn't follow behind the rest of them, at least not yet. Instead, Seth bent down at the waist, hand under his chin, and stared down at Merry and Pippin. My eyes curiously darted from Seth, to Merry, to Pippin – Merry had lost weight; Pippin appeared to be the same. I saddened, knowing _exactly_ why Pippin had not lost weight and his cousin had dropped ten pounds. Closing my eyes and trying not to cry. Dammit…

"Hey now…" My brother gently touched his pinky finger to mine, and I listened to his action, rather than his words, because I could always understand him this way. _We're safe. They're safe. Be __**happy**__. _Lips curling, I grasped his hand squeezed it gently with mine, resigned but happier than before. Wistful and thankful all at once.

…_You cannot save everyone._

"_We are our own people."_

_I wish…_

Squinting playfully, Merry pointed his index finger at me and Seth. "What are you and the lad looking at, Sammy?" He teased with a grin, but the expression of happy mischief did not completely hide his weariness and the purple bags of fatigue hanging beneath his eyes.

Together, Seth and I decided to play along with his charade – for whatever the reason, my older brother and this Hobbit preferred to keep their younger counterparts in the dark – and seriously asked, "You Hobbits high?"

Yeah. It wouldn't surprise me. At all.

Our Hobbit friends clearly found this question to be quite amusing judging by their wicked smirks and strutting around like peacocks – which, I blinked, probably did not exist here in Middle Earth. Still, Merry and Pippin turned to us and cheekily chorused, "Yes! On life!"

Ridiculous though it might be, I could believe it, and wanted to laugh _and _sigh at them. Instead, I compromised; I facepalmed and dryly muttered, "Unbelievable! Hobbits really are a merry people, and for a reason! Buncha druggies!"

"Hats off to the man who thought all of this shit up," Seth snorted. I attempted to tell him the author of _The Lord of the Rings, _but the loudmouth drowned it out – suddenly howled with laughter and pointed like a very amused toddler. "Weed! It's _weed!_ And I want some!"

Glaring at him in a scolding fashion, I put both hands to my (much curvier) waist and tiredly snapped, "I would ask if you remembered health class, but I'm sure you were sleeping in it! Drugs addle the brain!" Snort. "Yours is small enough already. You can't afford it, Seth!"

"Right, Twin. Too fuckin' expensive," Seth agreed amicably, sticking his thumbs in his pants pockets and stretching his lips wider to accommodate his teasing smile. Ignored that I only groaned and muttered, "You _know_ what I mean! You can't afford to lose _brain cells_…"

"…Seth?" A Hobbit chirped, hopefully, but with hesitance. "You finally found him?" A laugh of excitement lifted his lips, and then Pippin rushed forward to hug me around the waist. "I am really happy for you – the _both_ of you!" Beamed at us.

Dumbfounded but happy, I hugged him back, practically squeezing the stuffing out of the small Hobbit. "Yeah. Yeah, I found him, and I've found both of _you _now, so…" My lips trembled, and I tried in vain to sniffle back the tears in my eyes. I whispered, "Jesus! Thank the Valar you're alive and well."

"Um…" Pippin blinked curiously at me, raising small palms to cup my chin, which I had shoved into his curly brown hair. He pulled back and peered at me, eyes wide with sweet concern. "You _do_ know that Merry and I are safe, Sammy. Yes?"

Here, I nodded in answer. _Yes, yes, yes! I know, but…_

"…Why are you crying, then…?"

I only sobbed.

"Honestly, Pippin! You are quite thick sometimes. Borderline rude at times," Merry scolded the other Halfling and batted his hands away. A halfhearted glare appeared to keep him in check. "It is easy enough to see!" He pointed (with borderline rudeness) at me. "She is with child!"

"…OH!" Pippin breathed, lips circled rounder than his eyes. A quick glance shot to my swollen belly. Fingers twitching, like it had only just crossed his mind to touch it, Merry squinted at the stretched bit of flesh with critical brown eyes. "Why! It is the size of a _melon!_"

Inwardly, I admitted: _Not the reaction I have been expecting for the last week, but Hobbits __**do**__ think with their stomachs, and it is a pretty accurate description, I guess…_

"Well, I'm somewhere between three and four months into it, so…yeah." My watery eyes were misty from crying. I glanced down at him with incredulity, left eyebrow lifted and lips caught in a wary smile. Mentally calculated the months since I supposedly conceived and added, "Suppose that would be true…"

Although Pippin _clearly_ didn't find anything wrong with his words – _"Diarrhea o' the mouth," _Seth snickered with glee –his older cousin flushed in embarrassment. A small hand rubbed at the back of his neck, and Merry shyly murmured, "Apologies, Lady Sammy…"

"It's Sammy, and there's no need for apologies, Merry," I kindly said, "but thank you, anyway!" Grunting from the strain on my tired back, I leaned down to hug him around his much too thin waist, and I silently vowed to fatten him up! Then, I twitched. _Damn, I hate hormones…_

Thing One and Thing Two stared at me, and their mouths dropped when I smiled brightly at the two of them and instinctively rubbed the small bump that protected the unborn child inside me. Questions formed in their eyes. Merry and Pippin obviously wanted to know the reasoning behind this odd and drastic personality change; the last time I had spent time with them, I'd rarely shown acts of kindness, or smiled at anybody – except, perhaps, to mock them. So I smirked. A lot.

_God, I was always quite the bitch to them, wasn't I? _My cheeks flushed red in shame, stomach churning with guilt, and I selfishly tried to comfort myself by thinking of the first time I started to climb out of that stone shell, to offer them my warm cloak and calm them. It wasn't much, but at the time, I really did not know how to care about somebody else. I had _tried_ to be nice. Sort of…

The Hobbits seemed to want to know the identity of the father, too. Pippin wasn't the brightest star in the sky, but his cousin? Given that I had spent the last several months with the taller half of the Fellowship of the Ring, Merry _must_ have guessed that one of them – Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, Gimli – had fathered the child. But Merry also remembered how I had hated all of them with a passion. So which of them had been willing to touch me? Which of them had I liked enough to even give them that chance?

Yeah, Merry appeared quite curious about it all, but minded his manners. Pippin, however…

"A babe," Pippin exclaimed with excitement, before darting forward to place his hands on my stomach, the small fingers roving over my slowly protruding navel. I jumped in surprise and stared down at him, mouth hanging wide open. "You are married, then! Who is the father?"

…_Married? _Heart in my mouth, I could only stare at him and try to form the words for the explanation. I was not married _yet,_ but Aragorn was mine, and I belonged to – and with – him. We'd been betrothed for almost two months. Still, Faith had been conceived out of wedlock, which meant…

Blushing, I stammered at him. I finally glanced ahead, to the others, and laughed rather nervously as my eyes sought for somebody to offer assistance with this conversation, only to find King Théoden screaming at Saruman about peace – and death. The Wizard sneered at the Horse Master and raised his hand to display his palms; in them rested the Pilantir. My heart dropped, face paling and hands twitching to the material at my waist. I stared at the beautiful danger of the mysterious Pilantir_. You shine brighter than the stars._

"The Great Eye sees you…" Slyly, Saruman shifted his gaze and sneered down below his feet at the gathering of his adversaries – first at Gandalf and Aragorn, and then at me. I instinctively stepped backwards, hands clenched to fight the almost overwhelming need to lower them, to shield the soft bump bulging from beneath my garments. "…_all_ of you."

While Gandalf moved forward to listen to his threats – rather, his promises – that the next attack would happen soon, so _very_ soon, and without the chance to stop anything, my mind remained petrified. I was completely still, frozen with fear, limbs stiff because of the chill in my veins. We were, apparently, still following bits and pieces of the plotline that I nearly destroyed by saving Boromir. By sticking with Seth. By loving Aragorn. By coming to Middle Earth.

True. The King of Rohan and the Fellowship arrived to Isengard, which had been taken back successfully by the Ents. The Hobbits were now safe and sound, with us. The Wizard, Saruman, coolly acknowledged Gandalf, Théoden, and Aragorn in turn, exactly like in the story; however, Saruman had also looked directly at _me. _My brow furrowed in confusion, the barest inkling of understanding and foreboding leaking into my eyes. _Hold the phone; Saruman did not really look at __**me.**__ He was actually looking at…_

"You cannot believe that this Man, this Ranger, this _exile _would be fit to claim the throne of Gondor?" Saruman snorted derisively and leaned closer to the edge of his precious tower to smirk down at us. "He is of the bloodline, and his bloodline yet continues, but the blood of Kings, and of Queens, shall all burn beneath the gaze of the Great Eye_._"

My breath caught.

…_Faith._

_You must have Faith!_

An Eye gleamed, staring straight at me. My mind and chest and stomach became visible, almost translucent, beneath the strength of his orange, red, and yellow iris. _I MUST HAVE FAITH!_

_No, I will not let you, or __**anybody**__, have her! _I fearfully screamed inside, clawing at the darkness laying claim to my soul, skin tight and stretched and – God, it hurt. My stomach hurt. _She_ hurt. _My baby _hurt!

Why did it **hurt **so much?!

"You are all going to die," Saruman declared with glee, and seemingly in answer to my silently screamed question. His hands had, in his excitement, tightened their grip around the long, white staff clasped in between brittle fingers. Gandalf frowned darkly at him, and at the staff, and snapped his fingers at me.

A spell shattered of fear, darker than spell of black magic, melted like the last ice and snowfall of winter. It released its stranglehold, letting me swallow, and breathe, and wade through the chilly and cloudy water to meet Gandalf. I stopped directly at his side, inhaled for courage, and then flicked blue eyes up at the tall Wizard. Ancient eyes met mine, and Gandalf glanced rather pointedly from me, to the staff in his hands, and, lastly, to the bow in mine.

The Wizard resorted to riddles. "You are most certain that this important event shall not pass?" Gandalf cryptically questioned, but I knew exactly what had just been asked of me. We had discussed it prior to the departure from Edoras, though rather reluctantly on my part.

"_Ah, I see," Gandalf hummed and stopped stroking the wispy locks of his beard to smoke his pipe, lost in thought. "Saruman was meant to fall to his death, but by whose hand shall it be?"_

_Sheepishly, I fidgeted and fiddled with my apple, from which I had only eaten two bites, and admitted, "Gríma Wormtongue, who is…"_

"_Quite dead, unless I am mistaken."_

"…_oops?"_

Staring straight ahead, I only nodded solemnly in answer to his question, the lump in my parched throat too hard to speak over. I did not want to do this – not at _all._ Did not want to kill again, but what other choice did I have? Grima had been the one meant to kill Saruman, but **I **had killed **him**, which meant that I had to carry on in his place.

Now, I needed to kill Saruman, but…

"_We are our own people."_

Should **I **do it?

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Whenever I think of **Saruman,** I think of the blooper in which his robes nearly trip him up the steps in his tower. What if Saruman had tripped and fallen to his doom? XD

Anyway, I'm sorry about the wait, and I'm really, really, really grateful for all the _**wonderful feedback!**_ I know Sammy needed to be told off again, and Eowyn needed to take charge in a new way. Sammy reflects in this chapter; Eowyn actually really affects her future decisions, too! So I hope that you can see this and connect it to what happens (and why) in the next chapter. Several things happen, actually - it will deal with **Saruman.** You will also hear from **Eva** again soon, and learn more about Sammy's dream from the last chapter! I also plan to have a _small lemon _in CH 40, if anybody is interested...

**Question: **Who do you think is going to kill Saruman and why? I already know, but I want to hear what everybody thinks! :)

_**Note:**_ _SAMMY WILL NOT HAVE A MISCARRIAGE!_ I wanted to address that beforehand, since so many people think that might happen, and trust me, I know exactly where you are coming from. I have read several stories with that in it, and while I do not hate those stories, I always feel sad and uncomfortable reading about miscarriage. So regardless of how the upcoming cliffhangers sound, I promise - _NO MISCARRIAGES!_ Scout's Honor!

Hope you all love this chapter, and I will try to have the next one up soon(er). ;)

**Please Read and Review!**

_Update =_ _Around 540ish_


	40. Chapter 40 All For One, and One For All

~Chapter Thirty Nine~

All For One, and One For All

_Don't Add To My Mistakes.  
>Tell Me You're Not Leaving.<br>I Don't Wanna Be Left Behind;  
>I've Been So Blind To All That I Have Broken.<em>

_You Say The Story's Ending,  
>But I Think It's Time We Stop Pretending.<br>I Can't Let You Turn The Page._

_I Know This Will Take Time.  
>Can We Put The Past Behind Us?<em>

_Can You Give Me One Last Chance To Make It Right?_

_~One Last Chance, _by Daughtry

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

* * *

><p><strong>"You are most certain that this important event shall not pass?" Gandalf cryptically questioned, but I knew exactly what had just been asked of me. We had discussed it prior to the departure from Edoras, though rather reluctantly on my part.<strong>

**"_Ah, I see," Gandalf hummed and stopped stroking the wispy locks of his beard to smoke his pipe, lost in thought. "Saruman was meant to fall to his death, but by whose hand shall it be?"_**

**_Sheepishly, I fidgeted and fiddled with my apple, from which I had only eaten two bites, and admitted, "Gríma Wormtongue, who is…"_**

**"_Quite dead, unless I am mistaken."_**

**"…_oops?"_**

**Staring straight ahead, I only nodded solemnly in answer to his question, the lump in my parched throat too hard to speak over. I did not want to do this – not at _all._ Did not want to kill again, but what other choice did I have? Grima had been the one meant to kill Saruman, but I had killed him, which meant that I had to carry on in his place.**

**Now, I needed to kill Saruman, but…**

**"_We are our own people."_**

**Should I do it?**

* * *

><p>Sunshine glittered brightly in the clear blue skies, the light illuminating the water in which I waded, dancing nervously from boot to boot. The Vala had given to us a warm and comfortable day, but the beauty of the afternoon did not match the situation – at all. I continued to pace and squirm restlessly, lip caught between front and bottom teeth. Mind buzzing, I bit into the chapped skin, chewing at it just like the worries that gnawed steadily at me.<p>

My heart hammering, I lifted the bow with the right hand while reaching into the quiver and searching for an arrow with the left. I tried to take the stance I learned from Legolas, but I squirmed too much. _It isn't something that I think I should do, but…_

**Sacrifice.**

"Come down, Saruman. You shall share this information and be spared," Gandalf reassured him and ignored the way my eyes moved from the head to the chest of the other Wizard, knowing that I searched for the best spot to aim for – the easiest, quickest, and _cleanest _kill.

Yes, I planned to kill him. While I did not **want **to do it, I needed to do so. A Guardian of Middle Earth, Gandalf insisted it be done. And Oromë had made me promise to kill the Man, too. He and Manwë refused to let the Wizard continue to play God, Vala, much longer. It was not right, not fair, and the time to ignore the matters was over. I agreed completely with them; Saruman had caused enough grief, and his reign of terror must be ended – but by _me?_

_Dammit. Karma __**is**__ a real bitch! Is this what I get for always sticking my nose where it doesn't belong? _I sadly thought, feeling pretty inadequate right about then. I sighed, inhaling deeply to release the fear and the strong sensation of being crushed by rocks, or an anvil. Panic.

Maybe it could be attributed to the guilt I still had churning inside because of what Eowyn said, but I did not think so. This time, it did not feel…_right._ Saving Boromir, searching for Seth, and befriending Eowyn? These endeavors _did_ feel right, and contrary to popular belief, these choices were not rashly made decisions, though how I had handled the situations were. I could definitely have handled them differently and tried to approach the others to ask for their help, but until only recently, I didn't feel completely accepted by the Fellowship. Now, however…

_Now, I want to make them proud,_ _and I will, _I vowed, which is why I slowly lowered the bow in my arms. Blinded by the sudden flash of sunlight gleaming off of the metal tip of the arrow still perched in the bow, I did not see my enemy twitch, the faintest tic present in his cheek. Then –

"Save your mercy and pity, Gandalf! I have no need for it! Be gone!" Saruman snarled with teeth pulled back beneath his long nose and dirty facial hair. Spittle clung to his lips, but the Wizard ignored it. Shifted, pulled the staff back, and aimed straight for us. **Die.**

_Sammy. _My nickname, I heard it loud and clear through the silence ringing in my ears as a wave of fire roared, like lions, at the Fellowship. _Sammy. _I could not hear it, but I _did _feel the scream, and then the world turned sideways. A hand collided with my arm, just below the shoulder, and sent me away. I soared through the air from the force of the unexpected shove to my person – and the blast of the fireball that had greedily engulfed Gandalf and his beautiful white steed, Shadowfax. We all screamed: _GANDALF!_

Screams stuck in my mouth, beneath the tongue glued to the backs of chattering teeth. My heart stopped momentarily, and I gaped at him – at the orange and red firestorm – from my spot in the puddles of cold water left by the breaking of the wooden dam. It – the story, this life – was not supposed to happen exactly like this, like…like…_oh, God._ I was numb from the cold and from shock, and I shivered in the breeze, staring around with fear sparking in my eyes. Were the others okay?

Yes. Everyone was okay – shocked, but alive. The Fellowship and the Rohirrim King and his Men moved back from the raging inferno, arms up and hands shielding their faces from the heat of the blaze, and while I could feel the traitorous whoosh of relief in my chest, I could not relax just yet. We were all sitting ducks down here; Saruman had perfectly played the part of being cornered, but in truth…

We were wrong.

The Fellowship had mistakenly thought themselves ahead of the game once again. We were, once again, wrong. We had paid the price, too. No, **Gandalf** had paid the price. King Théoden gaped. And Aragorn swayed. And I trembled. And Gandalf and Shadowfax emerged proudly from the hurricane of smoke and fire and rocks – I slowly smiled – without _a single mark!_

"Saruman," Gandalf idly called, sounding wholly unconcerned with the matter, no waver in his voice though the fire could have consumed him. He lifted his attention from checking out his friend, Shadowfax, for injuries to stare at the other Wizard. Drawled, "Your staff is broken."

It crackled like firecrackers in his hands, but Saruman did not immediately make the connection, until – _**BOOM!**_ He did not cry out. He did not jump back and throw the weapon away. In fact, Saruman barely flinched; however, the Wizard still stared down at the ashen remains of (what _used _to be) his staff resting in his palm, which had started to smoke, in honest shock. A brief flash of fear entered his eyes and then it vanished. But Gandalf noticed it. He smirked.

"Holy shit," I whispered without meaning to do so, and although the words were crass, no one corrected them or me. Everyone was now much too preoccupied with the happenings above, especially since Saruman had started to retreat, white robes whirling around him like early morning mist.

My older brother, however, was not too shocked – timid, either – to be quiet. He scrambled to climb and swing to and fro in the slowly moving limbs of not two but _three _Ents, his fast efforts making him taller, bringing him closer, to the Wizard. However, Saruman continued nimbly running away. We were going to lose him! Again! Where would that leave us?

"YES! GET HIM, SETH!" I screeched without thinking. In that moment, I abandoned all of the well laid plans we – meaning Gandalf – had made in favor of following my gut and listening to the carefully honed instincts that had saved Seth or me countless times.

"NAH, I THOUGHT I'D INVITE HIM TO SUPPER, INSTEAD!" My brother snarled back at me and, when the wind suddenly shifted, ducked into the branches to avoid the still hot embers that it lifted from the top of the tower and in his direction. Sputtered at the ashen taste in his mouth.

Cursing, Seth thrust his left hand into the pocket in his breeches to retrieve his knife, left from his time and tours in the military, which seemed long, long ago. Aimed for a second, the motion familiar and practiced, and chucked it right at the Evil Wizard with the body of Men and with the soul of Demons. When it failed to reach its mark, Seth cursed again and resorted to throwing rocks, and the Ents – inspired by his bravery and idiocy – joined in by throwing boulders. Slowly, like all Ents, but hey, beggars can't be choosers!

After his Ent handed him a pretty big rock, Seth grunted, propelled it through the air with the help of branches turned catapult, and hollered, "HEY, PRINCESS! I KNOW THAT YER MARRYING THE KING 'N ALL, BUT A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!"

"Do not question your superiors, Soldier!" I teased him and snorted with laughter, but refrained from yelling like all of the other morons, while simultaneously ignoring the fact that it was_ my_ mouth and shrieking that had started the yelling fest. "Shoot first, ask questions later!"

"Ma'am," Seth barked while lifting his hand to salute me and then swiftly arranging the thickest of the spindly branches of his Ent to propel yet another boulder at the Wizard, "Yes, Ma'am! Uh, Queen!"

Hearing him, Merry and Pippin gaped at us, and each other, and then at the Ranger, the Man who had spent much of his time protecting them and the other Hobbits. "SAMMY IS MARRYING ARAGORN?" Merry yelped, whereas Pippin blurted, "DOES THAT MAKE STRIDER THE FATHER?"

From the branches of his own recently climbed Ent, Legolas smirked and mumbled something about humans and rabbits but lifted his bow, dropped into his offensive stance, and aimed true. Arrows whistled by, carried by the reluctant wind that I tried to control with difficulty, but Saruman knocked them aside with quick incantations and shields knitted together with his knowledge and magic. Legolas cursed, before leaping into the branches of another Ent.

The Wizard swept his hand to the side and sent several of them his way, manipulating the wind by wrenching it from me and pushing them back at the Elf. I quickly ducked, pulling both Merry and Pippin with me as an arrow strayed from its path, heading our way. With the Hobbits firmly pressed into my stomach and sides, I hunkered down, making myself smaller in the hopes that it might keep us safe. I also summoned the familiar symphony of musical notes that manifested with displays of my magic and coaxed them into covering their skin, mine, and the circular shields of those standing closest to us – Gimli, Captain Brynn, and King Théoden.

"By Durin, Lass," Gimli exclaimed, dancing back from the musical notes clinging to his axe, and waved its handle back and forth, shaking them from it with grunts of frustration. He glared at me. "'tis not the time for shenanigans!"

"On the contrary," Boromir appeared from behind another Ent, lifting and angling the flat of his sword to bat away an arrow, and calmly explained, "I believe it the perfect time to do what is unexpected –"

"– and catch the enemy unawares," Legolas finished, beautiful face melting into a warm mask of grim satisfaction. He tilted his head toward the tower, checking it for weaknesses, and inquired, "What of the window?"

"It will do," Boromir said in response and headed for the side of the tower, his long legs carrying him swiftly. He reached the waterwheel, used his gloved hands to climb up, and perched there while Legolas and Gimli tried to hold it still. Eyed the ledge, roughly measuring the distance between the waterwheel and the window, jumped, and –

…Missed…

_Sigh._

"Dammit, Boromir," I muttered, before rushing forward and throwing both hands to the back, to the front, and then up. Water, once a pool beneath their feet, shot to the skies and then hardened, forming a slanted cliff that directed the falling Gondorian through the window. My Guardian slipped inside, but not without first lifting his hand in thanks to us. We grinned back.

Unaware of this development, Gandalf stepped closer to King Théoden and Aragorn and glanced to the beautiful blue skies, sighing. "You have one more chance to end this madness and to save countless lives, before the instrument of the Valar steps forward to claim _yours_," The Wizard appealed to him.

A hand, thick and rectangular, reached out to clasp my arm. "What if the lad does not make it in time?" Gimli questioned, with his normally loud voice surprisingly soft in the effort of keeping the plan – if it could be called such – quiet.

_Uh…_

_Good question!_

"Well, then I…" I nervously started, hands curled into fists and stuffed inside the pockets of the baggy jeans I had stubbornly insisted that I wear. King Théoden thought them indecent. My lover agreed with him, but Aragorn also knew better than to pick fights with his pregnant fiancée. My mood swings and I would have chewed him a new one.

"…_we _will end it," Legolas corrected, finishing for me and placing his hands atop my arms. He stilled them, his strength and warmth chasing the chill of fear away, and smiled down at me, a quiet sadness present in his ancient eyes. I stared back at him and smiled sadly, too.

"Yes. **We** will end it," I strongly said – to Gimli, to Legolas, and to _myself._ I breathed in, and breathed out, and centered myself with that statement and the next thought. _We're going to succeed. All of us. Together._

In the next breath, Legolas and I aimed at him, both with bows. I would have preferred to try it again with magic, preferably the fireball spell that I favored, but realistically, I could not hope to match the Wizard. My Magic and I were young and too inexperienced to stand against Saruman. So, Legolas and I silently pulled right forearms straight and left elbows back some. We closed the first eye – with Legolas, his left, and with me, my right – and then focused with the other. Pinpointed two separate targets to increase the likelihood of hitting him…and killing him…

…The End.

"We shall all be free of you," King Théoden firmly stated, with firm conviction, and glared at him without fear. Words and thoughts, bad words and bad thoughts, had festered beneath his skin, but like all true leaders, Théoden would focus on now and deal with his rest later.

A snarl ripped itself out from within, clawing its way up and by his teeth, burning his tongue with poison. "Fool! You are all **fools**! I am no pest to kill!" Saruman protested then, lips twisted in a sneer and gnarled hand pointing furiously at the King of Rohan.

"Dude, I beg to differ!" Seth snorted rudely and while not the brightest bulb in the box, I had not expected him to be dumb enough to actually talk to – to actually _ridicule _– the famously powerful Wizard. (I know, I know – Pot meet Kettle.) "Fuckin' roach…"

Enraged, Saruman whirled around to glare down at my older brother, who had moved again to perch himself in the branches of the skinniest of the Ents; it kinda resembled him, too. I blinked stupidly at him, just like Saruman, before recognizing the set of his jaw and taking the chance to make a move. In that moment of distraction, which Seth had actually planned for, I aimed for Saruman, for his thin chest, and shot my arrow – straight and true. It sank deep into his chest, below his left collar bone, and with a _crack._

Bones – I could hear them from here – had broken, shattered from the impact, made forceful and deadly due to the distance and speed of the trajectory. I steeled myself, tried not to be violently sick, because the insecure girl hiding in the shadows inside remembered the looks of disgust from the others when I'd nearly vomited in Fangorn Forest. Stomach clenched. Eyes wide. Dry.

_Do not let them see your weakness._

**You shine like the stars.**

Cursing in Elvish, Legolas glared at the enemy as arrows – mine and his – hit their mark but did not kill him. The Wizard Saruman had merely started to heal the (normally fatal) wound beneath his collar bone and the other in his side, brittle fingertips pressing into the meaty flesh, thick lips murmuring incantations. I immediately slumped, disappointed that I could not atone for the mistake of killing Grima, who Tolkien – perhaps Fate – had meant to kill Saruman. The Imposter.

_What now? What should I do? Try again? Let Legolas take over? Or –_

Unexpectedly, Saruman began to stagger, hands limply falling from their place around his neck. A thick smear of red blood painted them and two prints covered his throat, left there by the hands that had sought desperately to cover a single gash, to stop the bleeding and heal the wound. It circled the front half of his throat like a crimson choker necklace, stretching between his ears, and little drops of crimson blood trickled down from it like ruby beads. Mesmerized by the sight, and paralyzed with shock, I watched him tumble – headfirst – to his death.

_**Crunch! **_Saruman landed in between two of the spokes of the water wheel, exactly like in the book and in the movie, and began a sickening spin around, and around, and around it. A Merry-Go-Round of Death. _Death has him now. _My attention, however, left the morbid thoughts and sight, lifting to stare at the top of the tower, at the top of the forsaken fortress of the Imposter. Standing there, at the top, was –

_Boromir._

Stunned, I could only gape and stared for the longest time at the tall Man. He slowly stepped closer to the edge, peered down into the chaos below, and then exhaled, hand wiping his sullied dagger against his cloak and sheathing the clean blade in a single, fluid motion. It was over and done with now. Still, I could not move, even as a chorus of cheers and laughter erupted from the Men, the Hobbits, the Elf, and the Dwarf. Above all, Gimli appeared the most pleased with the outcome.

"Bloody good hit, Boromir!" Gimli praised the Son of Gondor by cupping his hands and calling out to the Man. My Guardian waved at him, a smirk plastered to his bloodied but handsome face, and then retreated again, presumably to find the stairs leading back to us.

"Bloody is one word for it," I dumbly agreed with that assessment, though it only meant awesome or amazing in that context.

Against my will, I found myself staring at the waterwheel and the remains – _the fucking __**remains **__– _of Saruman. My mind whirled around and in time with the waterwheel, quickly spinning out of control. Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli had planned it, and I had known that it could happen, but…

_Why?_ _Why him? Why Boromir?_

_**You have made several mistakes by changing this story and the fate of all those in it, thinking it a mere story with characters. I had thought the good and innocent of this world doomed if left to you and that boy, **_Manwë quietly reprimanded, but the words hit home, and I flinched in guilt, knowing that I had thought these people fictitious. _**…However, I was wrong. **_

Again, I could feel the world spiraling because the expected had become the unexpected, and vice versa. My mouth dropped, hanging open as my eyes widened to the size of plates. In disbelief, I blinked repeatedly and echoed: _**You **__were __**wrong?**_

_**Yes, I was wrong, and Oromë was correct in his belief that you may yet change this world for the better, **_Manwë said, sounding quite amused that I had been thrown by his casual admission. He seemed to settle against something made of metal, perhaps his throne, before continuing, _**Gods make mistakes, too.**_

_Okay, I…don't understand, _I admitted truthfully, before lifting both shoulders and dryly adding, _Not that I __**should**__ understand the Gods, but it might help to know what you mean…_

_**Very well, **_The Vala hummed. _**You, in choosing to acknowledge these characters as people, have also taken their best interests to heart. You have tried to help them, to keep them happy and alive. By saving Boromir, who should have died long ago, your mistake of killing Gríma Wormtongue has been righted. You saved Boromir, a good Man, who then rid Middle Earth of another, much worse enemy, one who would have killed several other good Men, Women, and children. **_

_The Butterfly Effect, _I mumbled absently, the seemingly random bit of knowledge from my years at university popping up. _Part of the Chaos Theory, which states that a small change could have large effects and large changes could result in chaos and – _Blue irises rounded, filling with understanding_ – sometimes order._

_**Precisely, **_Manwë confirmed, the pride ringing in his voice and the sound of bluebirds singing beautiful melodies somewhere – in my mind, perhaps in Heaven – creating a symphony. _**On another note, however, I would appreciate you removing that dangerous object from your sibling.**_

"What?" I yelped, returning to myself from wherever it was that I went while speaking with both Oromë and Manwë, before promptly diving through the crowd of cheerful males to do just as commanded by the Vala. _My God._

My observant lover immediately sensed this change in demeanor, since I had shifted from being retrospective and speaking to the Vala, to running about in full blown panic. Aragorn thrust his arms out and tried to capture me as my smaller form darted by, nearly bulldozing Merry. But I used that shorter height to dive between his legs and shoot out to the opposite side. I sloshed through the water, jeans soaked to the knees, and waved both hands in the air like a moron – yelling, and loudly, too.

"PUT IT DOWN, YOU FUCKIN' IDIOT!" I shrieked, but Seth did not listen and continued to stare down in wonder at the white and red mist swirling within the orb – the orb that had been cradled lovingly in his large hands.

"…What is it?" Seth asked curiously, speech somewhat slurred, and stroked the shining surface of the orb with wide green eyes. Unlike me, my older brother did not recognize the danger of it, of the Palantír.

"Dammit, Seth!" I snarled at him, attempting to take the accursed object from his hands but finding it too difficult since my older brother had about eight inches on me and had lifted it higher into the air. "WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS? IT'S THE SNOW GLOBE FROM HELL!"

While I freaked out and tried to kick him in the crotch, Seth smacked the grabby hands away, angled his hips to ward off the kick, and absently mumbled, "Oh, I like snow globes…" My Twin continued to lovingly stroke the surface of the Palantír, the creep!

Before I could retort, Gandalf appeared out of nowhere and smacked him in the back of the head with his staff. My Twin immediately dropped the Palantír in favor of cradling his aching skull in his hands, instead. I blinked at the scene and then automatically tensed, preparing myself for my own smacking. Daddy liked to discipline – or rather, _beat the tar out of_ – both of his children at once. If Seth was going to be knocked about, then I could usually count down the minutes until Daddy turned to me.

When nothing happened, though, I opened only one eye and tentatively squinted through it to survey the mood of the Wizard. Disturbingly, Gandalf stared at me with this all-too-knowing gleam in his eyes. He raised his eyebrows higher, until the left nearly met his hairline, and waited while I settled again, the red of embarrassment coloring my nose and cheeks. A thoughtful hum trickled out from between his lips.

"Yes, I do believe it is time to leave," Gandalf said, inclining his head like somebody might if in agreement with somebody _beside _oneself. He ignored the curious stare of the youngest Hobbit, Pippin, and casually tucked the Palantír into his robes. To the others, Gandalf announced, "We will be leaving soon!"

"Where are we going, then?" Pippin asked him without thinking of the consequences, the bright curiosity from moments ago a constant companion of his, and attempted to trail behind the annoyed Wizard. Like a puppy…

Sensing his frustration, I waylaid the Hobbit, reaching down to gently guide him to my stallion, Orion. I went to lift him into the saddle, but Seth shouldered by and did it for me. I snorted at him in amusement. To Pippin, I explained, "We started off in Edoras before coming here, but the Fellowship has agreed to meet the Riders of Rohan somewhere else…"

A figurative lightbulb flickered to life, and Seth grinned somewhat maniacally, which I found disturbing given his close proximity to the damn Palantír just minutes ago. My Twin hummed the notes to a song and mischievously started, "So we're off to see…"

"If you say _wizard,_ Twin, then I'm going to smack you upside the head," I seriously said to him, warily watching him leer down at me and knowing that if I did not stop him, Seth might start singing that damn song to piss off Gandalf.

…We would both be burned to crisps.

And I would die.

_Again._

"Why is it that _you_ can say all the funny stuff, but if I do it, then I get in trouble 'n shit?" Seth grumbled beneath his breath while making certain I could hear him. He purposefully did it, knowing that it would irritate me and that I would respond to it. Hook, line, and sinker…

"Ugh, I am _annoyed_ because it has already _happened,_" I retorted, with hands to hips and then hand to hip and finger poking him in his stocky but muscular chest, "and this is Middle Earth! Not Oz!"

My Twin laughed, hearing the playful teasing in the words, and bent down to stare at me, nose pressed to nose. "Why do the Hobbits look like the damn Munchkins, huh?" Seth asked in amusement, skin crinkling and lips curling up.

"If they're Munchkins," I deadpanned while staring straight into his shining green eyes, "then _you_, my good sir, must be one of the Flying Monkeys!"

Pleased that I wanted to banter with him, Seth flicked his finger against my nose and laughingly quipped, "Okay, but that makes you the Wicked Witch of the West!" He jumped out of reach when I tried to pinch his side.

We continued to playfully bicker with each other until Boromir approached to curl his arm over my shoulders and place his cheek against my ear. He smiled and said, "All jesting aside, Pippin, we are to meet the others in the mountains, near a path that leads to Mordor."

"To Mordor," Merry murmured the name – not in fear, but in thought. The Hobbit instinctively stepped closer to Pippin, standing directly below his cousin, who waved cheerfully down at him from atop Orion. He smiled fleetingly and then seriously said, "Frodo and Sam should be there by now…"

"Not yet," I told him, hand to his shoulder while I began mentally recounting all of the stops that had been made thus far by the Fellowship and all of those still left to be made by our group of companions, "but soon."

The Hobbit openly frowned in confusion, blinked at me as arms crossed his skinny chest, and skeptically asked, "How is it possible to know for certain, Lady –" Here, I stared pointedly at him and waited patiently for the correction. "– uh, Sammy?"

"A story for another time, Merry," Boromir interrupted, before glancing behind the small half of the group (meaning Merry, Pippin, and myself) to incline his head at King Théoden. "It seems we must make haste to arrive there before night falls."

"Sammy and I could ride ahead to let everybody know we're goin' to be there soon," Seth kindly offered, hand raised like it would have been in class had the goofball not slept through them all. He did not want his approval, but Seth liked Boromir and wanted to show the other Man his worth.

Naturally, Boromir opened his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it and replied, "You can go on ahead, but I want to stay here with Merry and Pippin." I gently squeezed the hand Pippin offered and pulled Merry close to me, my need to keep the older Hobbits close greater than the habitual need to be with Seth. "Besides…"

"She is with child, Seth," Boromir firmly finished, though his expression remained gentle. Gray eyes roamed, glancing from my swollen stomach to Seth. My Guardian protectively placed his hand at my arm and tugged until I could lean against him. "Your sister needs to stay with us."

My Twin didn't want to admit it, but in the end, Seth acquiesced to the wisdom in these words, knowing that I would be well protected with so many warriors nearby. He stuck his fingers in his pockets, letting the thumbs jut out. "We should prob'ly all stick together, huh?"

"It would be wise," Boromir calmly agreed with him; however, by the stiffening of his shoulders, perhaps the Gondorian was more nervous about letting Seth or me wander off by ourselves than I originally thought. He stayed close to me and Seth, and Merry and Pippin, too.

"Guess everybody here is just goin' to have to suck it up! Yer all stuck with me!" Seth playfully exclaimed, bumping his shoulder against mine to hide his smile and then heading off to ready himself for the next part of the journey. My brother carefully tended to Aglæca.

Smiling faintly at the thought of being cared for, I reached for Boromir, tugged his much larger hand into mine, and hugged the Man I called Guardian. I kissed the stubble covering his cheek and murmured, "…Thank you."

"You are most welcome, Little One," Boromir softly returned and hugged back, being careful of the bump in between us. He brushed his hand against it, and I thought that the Man might touch it, but Boromir decided against doing so. Lifting me up so that I could clamber into the saddle buckled around Orion, instead.

After settling in, I grinned down at him in amusement because I could tell that Boromir would be a wonderful parent. I hoped that the Man would be the godfather to the children Aragorn and I had in the coming years. "Do you mind tossing Merry to me?" I asked him with a wink.

My Guardian appeared amused with the choice of words but did like I asked. He lifted under the shoulders of the remaining Hobbit and passed him to me. I guided Merry into the saddle in front of me, with Merry holding onto Pippin and keeping him from falling off. Meanwhile, I wrapped both arms around the two of them by holding the reins up, at their sides. Orion listened to my soft whistle and the gentle nudge of heels against his sides, carefully turning around to follow behind the rest of the Fellowship.

We arrived to the campsite within hours, right before twilight colored the land in hues of purple and blue and black. Everyone settled in around the fires and in the tents, first eating their fill and then leaving in search of empty bedrolls for much needed sleep. Aragorn and Legolas quietly ate their dinner with us and then wandered off thirty minutes later to speak with King Théoden. Seth lounged around with Brynn, Eomer, and Eowyn, but Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, and I remained here, with each other.

Feeling full and content, I leaned back against the first of the two fallen tree trunks most of the others used for seats. The Hobbits, exhausted from the horse ride and full of meats and cheeses, were curled against me, eyes closed and heads bowed, their hands curled in my jeans. Merry had his cousin within his right arm and the other was over my stomach, but I did not mind it, finding his silent protectiveness – and forgiveness – heartwarming. I smiled down at them and absently listened to the chatter of the remaining half of the Fellowship while sleepily resting beside Boromir, basking in his warmth and the warm glow of the fire. Mmm…

"What happens now?" Boromir questioned in the ensuing silence, lifting his hand to stroke his fingers down my ponytail. He picked at the hair tie keeping it together, lost in thought, and quietly grumbled, "We cannot accomplish all of these goals while in one group…"

"…you just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?" I whined while attempting to snuggle further into his arms. I burrowed under his left arm and wrapped mine around his waist, holding him close and silently thanking him for his companionship, friendship, and paternal love.

My Guardian refrained from rolling his eyes and instead pushed until I grumpily sat up, my eyes on our companions, all of whom appeared ready to discuss the next step in the journey. I sighed but settled in again, stilling to keep the sleeping Hobbits from waking up, and turned to give my attention to Gandalf. The Wizard would take charge in the absence – and sometimes at the side – of Aragorn. So I expected him to step up and start listing all that must be done to bring about the end of the War.

As usual, Gandalf did not disappoint and started the discussion. He released his breath, blowing smoke from his between his lips, and cleared his throat to speak. "We all have much to do, and little time to prepare or move," The Wizard quietly said to us and then glanced at his hands. "I fear that there is not _enough_ time, in truth, to do what must be done…"

Silently, Boromir glanced to Merry and Pippin, who remained curled against my stomach, and then stared solemnly back at the Wizard. "We have little time, as you mentioned, but not all is lost, Gandalf," Boromir returned with confidence that wavered only at the last part, letting his uncertainty show.

"We all know what must be done," Gimli chipped in with his usual bluntness, hunching forward to place his palm to his knee and to stare straight at them. He shifted restlessly, though, uneasy with the suggestion, and grunted, "We must attack the problem from all sides, and…"

"…We need to split up…" I softly whispered.

* * *

><p>***Author's Note***<p>

Yay! I updated pretty early, all things considered, and I'm really proud of how this chapter turned out. It is all wrapping up nicely, though I will have to go and edit the first half of the chapter soon and work out the remaining kinks; _it will all end in about six chapters which, knowing me, will be in about six months still._ So please enjoy this update and the rest of the story! ;)

**NOTE:** Okay, I spelled Palantír wrong! It was recently brought to attention, and I corrected it. Sorry about that mistake! ;)

**Up Next:** A Lemon, Eva, and the Path of the Dead

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

_Update =_ _Around 555ish._


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